The Assassin II: Thief of Lives
by Metatron Alastor
Summary: As the storm following the rebirth of the Dark Brotherhood ends, the Assassin turns once again to the task destiny has given him. The clues he has lead him further into the labyrinth of Fate, which has another hard lesson in store for him.
1. Prologue: Memento

Azrael closed the old squeaking door behind him. It took both hands: the metal wings of the portal were heavy as boulders. The first thing the Assassin did once he got out was cover his eyes from the sunlight. He had entered the ruin by night. Had he entered during the day, his eyes couldn't have adapted quickly enough to allow him to see inside. It was roughly four in the morning when he got in, and now it was almost midday. He went up the stairs, and was welcomed above by a loud neigh.

'I'm here, girl,' he said, looking at Shadowmere as she came closer to him. He patted her on the neck, and she in turn touched his shoulder with her muzzle. 'Come on, let's get going. If you do well, we'll be at Riverwood in no time.'

He mounted, grabbed a piece of cooked meat from the saddlebags and then gripped the hair of the horse tight. Shadowmere knew that it was the 'go' signal. She reared up, neighed again, and galloped forward, towards the East.

* * *

A fork. They needed to go South. That was the fork before the Nightgate Inn. The road that headed South went towards the Whiterun hold. It was already seven in the morning, roughly. Azrael did not know for certain, since a huge amount of clouds was blocking the rays of the Sun. The first day of gallop had gone quite smoothly. The forests of the Pale were thick with snow, and those clouds clearly showed that more was about to come. The Dark Elf wanted to avoid the snowstorm at all costs, but he did not need to remind Shadowmere to go fast. She was already galloping at breakneck speed in the middle of the road, entering the woods when there was someone on the road that was best to avoid.

Azrael let go of her hair with one hand, and grabbed the note that he had found instead of the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. A rather mysterious, cryptic piece of text. He had developed an insanely strong immunity to secrecy, but that was just a little bit over the top. Sneaking in a house is one thing, but someone making way into an entire buried Nordic ruin and stealing something seemingly unimportant really was something beyond him. Not beyond his abilities maybe, but definitely his imagination.

He looked at the note, feeling a bit guilty. As he put that away, he looked at the half-fingered gloves he wore, and realized that he had got them less than three weeks back. He had completely overlooked the affair with the Greybeards since the Dark Brotherhood business started. There had been nothing to remind him of that. Then, with Titus dead and the situation somewhat stable, he had found himself looking for something to do. The Dragons immediately came to mind. The choice to start pursuing that path again was made out of mere curiosity and interest, but as he delved inside the Nordic barrow he had found a text in the Dragon Tongue. The call he felt, the strength with which the Words drew him near reminded him of how enormous the task ahead of him was. Both for himself and the world.

 _And now we pick up old dealings again. Dragons wanting to destroy the world and so on… I wonder what that's all about. And the strange thing is how close I felt to that one I slew. Mirmulnir. I still remember his memories flowing in me. They are confused, I can't see his past, but the knowledge that came with it is now mine. In death, he granted me a great gift. I have never felt nearer to someone in my entire life, maybe excluding Titus and Laila… Laila, dear child. Will I ever see you again?_

Lost in memories and reasoning, the Elf did not hear clearly the strange noise that came from high in the sky. He just looked at where it had come from, raised an eyebrow and then gripped the hair of Shadowmere again. He could not see past the veil of clouds.

Some time passed, and he did not see anything else. The grey shroud above his head remained still, not even the wind was moving it. Then, suddenly, Azrael started to hear a regular pulse, something flapping in the humid air. He looked behind him, where the sound came from, but he didn't see anything strange.

 _I'm imagining things… It's not a good sign. Unless…_

The clouds began to move, the veil began to shimmer; a moment later a huge green creature nosedived from the skies and flew just past him, descending quickly and raising its head. A big, membranous wing flung right above his head.

The strong gust of air knocked Azrael down Shadowmere's back; he tried to hold, gripping her hair as strong as he could and then surrounding her neck with both hands, but got thrown off the horse's back anyway. He landed on the frozen grass, rolling and managing to direct the last spin and get up, leaving a shallow track in the soft snow. He put his left hand of the ground to keep standing, shook his head and looked up in the sky.

The Dragon was different from Mirmulnir and even the huge black one he had seen at Helgen. This one was green, not grey nor black, and had a broader head and a flat end to the tail. It also had strange fins on its back, which were not hard like the ones of the black Dragon, but it did have the same skeletal crest on the forehead. The green scales fitted together thanks to lines of white tissue, not overlapped like the ones of the Black Dragon. The Assassin had never seen one of those before, and resigned to analyze it on the spot. He had some time.

 _The wings seem fragile in comparison to the rest of the body, it could help. The head… There is a larger space between the bony crest and the eyebrow… There shouldn't be any bones there, it might be easy to penetrate. The brighter scales seem more thin. I should try to hit them._

The Dragon flew over him again, threateningly, and the Dunmer followed it with his gaze as it passed above. It was really fast, the chances of hitting it mid flight were low, but when it was about to attack it would have needed to slow down, and that could have been a good moment. He grabbed the bow and nocked an arrow, standing and keeping the fletching of the projectile near his eye. He needed maximum accuracy.

The monster turned around. It saw the arrow aimed right at its muzzle and quickly adapted its strategy. Azrael got very confused when the huge creature began to sway around, spinning and whirling on itself. The Dunmer decreased gradually the tension of the string, not really understanding the reason of all that movement, and also because he was unable to aim very well at weak spots. The Dragon used its advantage and nosedived, coming very close to the Elf, who had to release the shot and roll away. The arrow, however, had not the strength nor the precision to hit well; it flew and began to fall before reaching the target. It struck a neck-scale of the beast and snapped in two, leaving nothing but a scratch.

 _Damn, he's toying with me. Fine, you're free to do what you want. Just stay alert, because I learn quickly._

The Assassin looked at the beast flying higher into the air again, turning quickly and preparing for another attack. This time Azrael caught a glimpse of its eye, and that yellow iris sparkled of a brutal and ancestral cleverness. The Elf sensed that, and felt something was not quite right. He looked at his enemy, flying over, too high to be preparing for and attack on the ground.

He rolled away just in time.

A gruff roar covered all other sounds there was, even the beating of the wings, as a raging firestorm erupted from the Dragon's mouth. The flames melted the snow and scorched the earth, leaving a trail of smoke and vapor in a huge line. Azrael, who now stood right beside it, sighed with relief and drew the bow again. He had been played with two times, and now he was getting a little bit tense. He did not know how much aces the Dragon could still have up its sleeve.

The Dunmer glanced around, looking for Shadowmere, but there was no trace of her. He did not fear for her, she was safe and would have returned, but she might have been of use in that fight. He did not fret, she would have arrived in due time. She always did. One thing that may have helped him survive that battle was his complete calm. In times past, being toyed around that way might have angered him to extremes; make him lose his lucidity. Now, after all that had transpired, he had no emotions as he fought. Under his hood and the mask his face was looked like ice. The only thing that overcame complete rationality was the sarcastic sneer that never disappeared from his lips, only sign of feeling on his emotionless face.

The Dragon noticed that its tactic had been successfully avoided, and now the element of surprise was not playing on its side. It decided to descend, this time more directly.

 _He's going for another nosedive…_ thought Azrael. _Good, as soon as he gets near we dodge and stuck an arrow in its leg._

The Assassin calculated all he could, drew the bow for the third time and walked slowly without losing his target for too long; the Dragon descended, flew closer and looked like it was going to slope.

But it didn't.

The huge monster opened its wings to their full span, braking absurdly quickly. If it successfully did what it was planning, it would have squeezed Azrael under its body and ripped him apart with the claws of the rear legs. Azrael understood it when it was far too late to roll away, dodge out of the landing area of the monster or fire a shot that would have forced it to raise again into the air. It was too late. The full weight of the Dragon had been used to perform that maneuver, and he could not have moved away. There was no way someone could survive that.

 _I need to get away from here, I need to get away from here… How do I do this?_

The Dragon was meters away from the ground, the claws already stretched forward to grab the flesh of the Elf, the eyes still sparking of that old and ancient cunning that made them mysterious and frightening at the same time. Azrael looked at the green shape collapsing on him, his doom crashing down with incredible force. His emotionless reasoning continued, seeking every possible way out.

 _There has to be a way… Well, an obvious one. You're Dragonborn for a reason, idiot._

'Wuld!'

The collision that the Dragon made hitting the ground proved violent. Very violent even. Entire pieces of soil flew off and rocks emerged from the terrain, as the frozen grass got torn off with its roots and thrown everywhere. The monster advanced, dispersing the force of the impact and moving its claws in search of elven flesh to rend. But, to the Dragon's surprise, they found nothing.

The beast moved its head around, looking in every direction. It finally turned completely and looked behind itself, and saw the grim shadow of its younger brother standing ten meters behind its own tail. The Assassin showed his back to it, with his head slightly turned and his gaze over his own shoulders. He held the bow in one hand and three arrows in the other, standing straight with his feet firmly planted on the ground and his long cloak flapping behind him.

 _I too have got a couple aces up my sleeve…_ though the Dunmer, his sarcastic sneer turning into an even colder and crueler expression of victory.

The Assassin rotated in a dark flash, with the bow already drawn and the arrow ready to be fired. He released the first even before stopping his spin, and by the time he completed his turn another had already being nocked. The three twangs were very close to one another, and the arrow reached their target with the same astonishing frequency. The first hit the leg of the creature, the second stroke the scales of the neck, cutting it, and the third sank right into the eye.

The Dragon roared loudly, shaking its head furiously and breathing smoke from its mouth.

The Dunmer, however, did not care. He had seen Shadowmere coming before, and now she was a few meters behind him. He sprinted forward and the horse ran beside him, slowing just a little bit and allowing him to jump on her back without decelerating too significantly. The horse and the horseman, finally reunited, galloped forward and then turned back, ready to strike again.

The Dragon beat its wings and raised up in the air again, but could only see on one side and the arrow stuck in its claw proved very painful. It felt that wound as an opening in its body through which its life force flowed away and its strength dissipated.

The Assassin looked at the Dragon struggling to raise high enough in the sky and smiled pitilessly. The poison he imbued the arrow with was doing wonders.

 _Babette might be small, but she is a really good teacher…_

The beast roared, suffering, and tried to raise higher. Every beat of its wings cost it much effort and pain, and Azrael was sure the light in its eyes was slowly fading. He watched the creature flying farther, turning and then coming again in his direction. It would fly overhead, not attack him, and so he adjusted his strategy a bit. Those two projectiles would have been really useful nonetheless. The Assassin breathed deeply and picked two arrows from the quiver, knocking both and holding his breath.

At the right moment he fired both.

The projectiles hissed sinisterly and reached their target right in the joint between the scales of the abdomen and the sinews that connected it to the membranous wings. The metal tip sank in the soft flesh and severed nerves and sinews alike, on both wings of the beast.

Half blinded, crippled and unable to fly, the Dragon roared again as he started to fall down to the ground. His thundering growls became more frightened and agonizing the nearer he came to earth. Azrael looked as the creature fell down, put his bow away and grabbed the Blade of Woe from his belt. He strongly gripped the hair of Shadowmere with one hand and patted her on the neck with the one holding the dagger. She accelerated immediately.

It was the second time the Dragon collided with the ground, but this time it could not control the impact. It crashed against the terrain, sliding further and helplessly roaring. It barely had the time to move its head when a new, sudden and ravaging wave of pain came from the abdomen. It knew what had happened immediately, it knew a blade had slashed its belly, but it did not expect a human blade to be able to do that. Its adversary appeared beside its neck immediately after. The Dragon arched its neck and then shouted. A flaming inferno burst from its mouth.

Shadowmere, well aware of the danger, awaited the command of the Assassin. As he heard the groans, first signs of the giant blaze, he moved the hand gripping to her hair to the left. She turned without a single doubt, and the cascade of fire just passed beside her.

The Dragon, unable to see or think clearly, lost the perception of the world around it. A humanoid would have fainted in that state, but Dragons don't have that possibility. And so it continued to limp forward, blind and feeling its strength waning with every new step. One of the last things it confoundedly felt was a strong pain delivered in a single line around its neck. A long, deep cut. Life did not disappear from him, but began flowing out. The very last thing it perceived, or rather heard, was the deep voice of the Assassin.

'Farewell, brother.'


	2. Lady Doubt

'Lucan, come on! It's four in the morning already!'

'Just a moment more, dear sister…'

'No! Come, Lucan.'

Delphine looked as Camilla Valerius dragged her drunk brother away, giving her a weary smile. The innkeeper nodded in response with a slight grin of empathy and watched her closing the door. Silence. She was now alone, aside from the two travelers who were already sleeping in their beds. The doors were closed, she barely heard one of them snorting. She walked up to the fire and threw some more wood to it. With that it should have stayed kindled until daybreak at least, which was more then enough.

Then, surprisingly, the door opened. She sighed, turning.

'Embry, if it's…'

She froze.

The newcomer looked bleakly at her, but did not react to her astonishment and just closed the door behind him. Delphine looked back at him, and something told her he was not a normal guest. His entire suit of armor was black and crimson, made of leather and dark plates of thin metal strengthening it, especially on the pauldrons and the cuirass. A long series bandolier filled with small flasks and others with thin daggers were attached to his armor. The face of the newcomer was almost completely hidden; a crimson hood was lowered on his forehead while a dark leather and mail mask covered both his nose and mouth. The only thing she was able to see were the eyes of the stranger, which were the red eyes of a Dunmer. Rather strange, since by the height she would have guessed he was a slightly short Altmer. That thing in particular, the prospect of him being an Altmer, had gave her quite a shock.

The weapons he had were not less peculiar. On his back hanged a long bow, probably an elven one colored dark grey, and a quiver filled with arrows with black vanes. From his belt hanged a dagger, sharp and dark, that looked like a true messenger of death.

Without the remotest clue of what to say, she started off the safe way.

'If you're staying the night, I've got a free room.'

'I was actually interested in your attic room.'

Delphine got stunned by the surprise for the second time. How had she been that stupid? Why else would a person like that walk into that inn? She swallowed, touching her belt. Yes, the Horn was still there.

The voice of the newcomer was indeed the one of a Dunmer, but deep as the depths of Oblivion and cold as the northern gales. His eyes were deep as the abyss, the flame in them burned bright. He really was the person she was looking for, but he was not the person she thought he would have been. She expected a normal Nord, a man from those lands, maybe some strong warrior wielding a sharp broadsword and a shield or even a huge brute with a two-edged axe on his back.

But no, that was not the case. It was quite clear that the person she stood in front of did not rely on brute force to win his battles. Delphine understood that very well, and with the years she had come to realize that most fair fights are lost fights. That hooded character seemed to have taken note of that truth, and had adapted to it.

A few seconds had passed between the glacial sentence of the Assassin and the firm reply of Delphine.

'Attic room, is that? Well… we don't have an attic room, but you can have the one on the left. Make yourself at home.'

Azrael looked at her as she went to the room on the left, and followed her carefully. He clearly asked for something that was not present in the tavern, but that astonishment on the face of the innkeeper couldn't have been just mere confusion at the request. The Assassin had the suspect she was actually the person he was looking for. They both entered the room. Azrael, without needing her to remind him, closed the door behind him, and then looked at the woman threateningly. He immediately wanted to make clear who the stronger one was in that situation, whatever she had to say.

'So you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about. I think…' she continued, taking something from her belt, 'you're looking for this.'

The Assassin raised an eyebrow as she handed the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller to him.

'We need to talk,' she said. 'Follow me.'

 _We do need to talk,_ Azrael thought. He followed her across the tavern to the opposite room, most likely hers judging by the amount of scrolls, ledgers, books and papers that were scattered around. She walked towards the wardrobe and put a hand on the knob. She stopped a moment before opening it.

'Close the door.'

Azrael obeyed, saying nothing.

The innkeeper opened both shutters, and then casually made the back panel slide right into the wall, opening a passage. The Assassin peaked in, and saw a set of stairs leading down.

 _And here we go again… Another secret hideout, someone else desperately needing my help, or maybe someone who thinks I desperately need their help. Such a classic. Well, she actually went through a whole crypt filled with walking clusters of sinews and rotten bones, so she should not be a complete nuisance if nothing else. I guess we'll see._

'Now we can talk,' said the innkeeper, in a satisfied tone. She went down the stairs.

The Dunmer followed her carefully, looking around that small room. It was build in the basement, and so the wall were made of cobblestone. It was quite well furnished, too. There was a cupboard on the opposite side of the entrance, supplied with quite a lot of bottles. Potions. As he walked in and took a closer look, Azrael also noticed the alchemy lab and even an enchanting altar. That was quite something to have for a normal woman, but the more he saw the more he thought that innkeeper was not a normal woman, although she was quite good at disguising as one.

 _Damn it, I don't even remember her name… What did that cook call her? Delphine, right._

The last thing the Assassin noticed was the map that lied on the table. He gave it a short glance and instinctively narrowed his eyes.

'Didn't I fetch that map for Farengar Secret-Fire some time ago?'

'Yes, you did,' she answered dismissively, putting both hands on the table. 'And now the Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn. I hope they're right.'

'I would guess they are,' replied the Assassin, crossing his arms.

'I hope so,' she said, with an irritated undertone. 'But you'll forgive me if I don't assume that something's true just because the Greybeards say so. I just handed you the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Does that make me Dragonborn, too?'

'So you were the one who took the Horn?'

'Surprised? I guess I'm getting pretty good at my harmless innkeeper act.'

At that point, Azrael was growing tired of that. All that talk, with the constant allusion to secrets he did not know, not yet, the constant boasting and that irritating sting of scorn and contempt in her voice irritated him. If he was there to discuss something important, she had best get to it. Not lament nor brag.

'Listen, whoever in Oblivion you might be…' he said, his voice trembling and reaching its deepest notes. 'I came a long way to find you. You tried to sabotage my mission, you introduce me here and now you tire me with all this distrust and arrogant doubtfulness. End this exhausting charade. Now.'

'It was the only way I could make sure it wasn't a Thalmor trap,' she explained. 'I'm not your enemy. I already gave you the horn! I'm actually trying to help you. I just need you to hear me out.'

'You'd better start explaining. Fast.'

'I'll explain what I want when I want, got it?' she said, threatening. 'You'd already be dead if I didn't like the look of you when you walked in here…'

All she really saw was a dark flash, a sudden succession of lightning-fast movements. She saw the gloved hand of the Dragonborn reaching for an arrow, his other for the bow. A second later she had an arrow aimed right between her eyes. She backed off from the table, trying hard not to lose her composure. In her mind a storm was raging. She could not have allowed something like that to happen, otherwise who would have taught the Dragonborn what he really needed? But she made him a lot more stupid than he actually was.

As soon as she lifted her hands into the air the muscles around his eyebrows relaxed. 'A lot better…' he sniggered, lowering the bow. 'I don't mean you any harm, since you clearly know something that interests me. Just don't try to threaten me. And get to the point.'

Delphine slowly put her fists down on the table again, as the Assassin put his bow away and the arrow back inside the quiver. She looked at him, and immediately thought he was more suited to the task than she expected.

'I had to know if the rumors were true…' she continued, like nothing even happened. 'I'm part of a group that's been looking for you…well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you.'

'First…' said the Dragonborn. 'I'll make sure I can trust you. Why did you even bother to take the Horn from that crypt?'

'I knew the Greybeards would send you there if they thought you were Dragonborn. They're nothing if not predictable. When you showed up here, I knew you were the one the Greybeards sent, and not some Thalmor plant.'

'You and those Altmer must hate each other quite a lot,' was the only, cold comment that came out of his mouth.

'Yes. We're very old enemies. And if my suspicions are correct, they might have something to do with the Dragons returning. But that isn't important right now. What is important is that you might be Dragonborn.'

'And why were you looking for me?'

'We remember what most don't: that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer. You're the only one that can kill a Dragon permanently by devouring its soul,' she said, stressing the last three words, like she needed confirmation. 'Can you do it? Can you devour a Dragon's soul?'

'That's how I first learned I was Dragonborn.'

'Good. And you'll have a chance to prove it to me soon enough.'

Azrael narrowed his eyes and put his own fist on the table, looking more intently at Delphine.

* * *

'I doubt the Thalmor are aware of you yet. So we should be safe from them, at least.'

Delphine looked again at the Elf, wondering. As soon as they got out of the inn and she bid Orgnar goodbye, the Dragonborn started growing more and more shadowy with every passing second. It started by replying to her questions and observations with distracted murmurs, and now he had stopped responding altogether. He kept his head down, watching his own feet and breathing very deeply. She had absolutely no clue of why he was behaving like that. He had been sure of himself and even arrogant for the whole time and now he had turned silent all of a sudden. That was indeed quite curious. For someone of the likes of Delphine even heavily suspicious.

'Would you mind telling me why you're not responding?' she burst, raising her voice.

'I'm still considering whether to trust you completely,' replied the Assassin after long moment. That time his voice felt distant, emotionless, as if detached from reality.

'Have you got trust issues with everyone?'

Azrael gave her an amused glare.

'Look who's talking,' he sneered, but there was no reproach in his voice. Only his ever-present, sharp and biting sarcasm, which always hit the soft spots and weaknesses with surgical precision.

Delphine felt a sting of spite down her throat, but quickly overcame it and controlled herself. He had been doing that the whole time, from when he had arrived in the heart of night. And now it was almost dawn.

'It's what allowed me to survive all these years,' she explained. 'If fact, even if we may both end up dead, at least this gets me out of Riverwood. I don't really think I'm cut out for the quiet life.'

She noticed that he had finally regained his composure. He now walked straight again, each step longer then hers. They were at a turn, but as Delphine followed it to continue on the bridge that would have led them out of Riverwood, the Assassin just went forward towards the bushes. She stopped, looking at him with an annoyed glare, her arms on her waists.

'Where in blazes are you going? The road is not that way.'

'Quiet,' he replied. 'I've just decided to trust you. Don't make me change my mind.'

The secretive undertone in his sentence raised the alarm in the woman. In all those years she had learned that to lower your guard means your death. Or worse. The thing she did not like about that Elf was that he just kept trying to do that. He tried to make her lower her guard. As strange as it may sound, his constant mocking forced the two closer, trying to establish a relation based on feelings and ideas rather than rules. That was quite an annoyance to Delphine, especially since the Elf did that very well and was slowly breaking her wall of distrust. He was slowly chipping away at her distance from emotions, making her recall how pleasent they were.

'Girl, come out!' said the Elf, to the trees and plants in front of him. 'Don't you worry, she's a fried. Kind of.'

'What are you doing?' she burst. 'We need to get to Kynesgrove, we can't stay here twiddling our thumbs!'

As soon as she finished, the sound of undergrowth being trampled and a horse galloping reached her ears. She thought she saw something moving in the trees, but she did not pay any attention to it. The Assassin turned slowly, letting the cloak wrap around his legs. His eyes flashed.

'Do you want to kill that Dragon?' he asked. 'Then it's better if we get where we need to fast.'

Delphine heard the hoof treads becoming louder and louder, until she saw something in the trees, something more than a mere shadow. Two lights, bright red, shining grimly in the darkness that shrouded the woods in the weak light of the dawn. Two black hooves, without horseshoes, came out of the dark and crushed the shrubs that separated the forest from the road.

A huge, black horse took shape from the dark shadow, and Delphine realized that the flaming red lights were in fact the monster's eyes. That beast was colossal, a lot bigger then any other horse she had ever seen; Its shoulder were roughly as high as the woman's ears, and its head was way up. It had not saddle, no reins and no bit, and she wondered how that titan of an… animal could be controlled. Animal almost sounded like an understatement. The creature was more resembling of a daemon than an animal.

The beast stopped right at the side of Azrael, and proudly stood beside him. Together, one next to the other, they looked like one thing. The black and crimson armor of the Assassin complemented the black hide of the horse alongside its reddish hair and tail. The eyes of both were red, and they really looked like the same thing divided in two. There was no other mount that would have suited Azrael better, and there was no living horseman that could have matched that deamon better.

'Behold Shadowmere, Lady Doubt,' the Dragonborn said, clearly referring to Delphine. He then patted the horse on the muzzle and grabbed her back firmly, getting on it. It was a bit like climbing, because with no stirrups you had to grab the beast's back and pull up. 'I might not be a Dragon in the body, but she is the only wings I need.'

He then offered her his hand.

Delphine, instead of grabbing it and join him, backed off. She would not have gone on the back of that monster, ever. The Dunmer looked at her, and again glared amused at her.

'Come on, Lady Doubt. It will be alright. She's certainly not a Thalmor.'

The woman looked at the Elf for the last time, and made her decision. After countless years, she would have tried to trust someone again. She bowed her head, moved forward and grabbed the firm grasp of the Assassin, who took her by the armpits and aided her to get on the back of Shadowmere. She sat behind him, sighing and grabbing his waists.

'Come on,' whispered the Elf. 'Let's go kill us a Dragon.'


	3. Time undone

'Not too much farther now. Kynesgrove is just down the road to the southeast of here.'

'Acknowledged.'

Shadowmere turned quickly, avoiding the road and keeping far away from the stables of Windhelm. Too much people risked to see them there, as it was almost midday. Delphine was indeed quite stunned. She planned on traveling for several days, maybe three or four, to get there. One day and they were already fairly close to Kynesgrove, which shocked her. Despite her mistrust for the Assassin and that huge horse-looking daemon he rode, she was quite fond of useful things and practical solutions, and it was impossible for her to deny that the beast they were riding was indeed one of the most practical solutions she had seen in her entire life.

'So, we find this Dragon resurrecting and then what?' asked Azrael. 'Do you have any plans about studying it? What exactly is our purpose?'

'Given that Dragons are coming back to life and not merely returning, we need to understand how that is possible. The magic we wield, the one that draws power from Aetherius, is not strong enough to revive a Dragon. We need to understand how this works, in short. Of all the things we need, we need information the most.'

Meanwhile, Shadowmere had already reached the road that went towards Kynesgrove, and was already passing by the desolation that surrounded the volcanic tundra on their left. The huge, bleak expanse covered by vapors and run through by strong winds lied endless on both sides of the road. The sky above them was cloudy and dark, but the land was dry. Delphine guessed that the rain would have come eventually, maybe that very day, but she hoped not during the encounter with the Dragon. It wasn't really sure whether they would have had to fight it or not, but it just seemed logical that a battle would break out. She was tense. She looked at the back of the Assassin, who was perfectly calm.

'How do you manage to keep cool with the prospect of fighting a Dragon?' asked Delphine.

'Why? Are you frightened?'

'I am, but I'm not showing it. But I've been trained for my entire life.'

'For me it's quite the opposite: my entire life has trained me. You, Delphine, only see my armor. You don't even see my face. You don't know me. But I've seen my share already, and trust me, it would take a lot to impress me and even more to make me show that. So, unless something truly unique awaits us, don't expect me to get tense or anxious. It just doesn't work with me.'

'How did you encounter your first Dragon?'

'With my head lying on the chopping block.'

Delphine had troubles deciphering his irony. She didn't figure out if it was just a joke or a real fact of which he was making fun of. But she was Lady Doubt, and so she thought he was just joking.

'Nice metaphor,' she replied, cold.

'By Azura…' sighed the Dunmer. 'It's impossible to jest with you, Lady Doubt. That's the truth. I saw my first Dragon from the chopping block.'

'You'll tell me the story later,' she said dismissively. 'This is Kynesgrove. Not much to look at. The innkeeper ought to be able to tell us if there's any Dragon mound nearby… What are you doing?'

'We're taking a small turn to leave Shadowmere,' he explained, shifting the hand holding her hair to the right. She went off the road, towards a small copse. 'They can't see her, or the Dragon might not be their immediate concern.'

Once they reached the small grove they both jumped, quite literally, off the back of the horse. Delphine stretched a bit, trying to recover from the seven hours of continuous gallop. One of the instructor of the cavalry back in the Imperial City used to say that a good horseman must have two parts of his body made of steel: the arm and the backside. She now understood that quite well. Azrael opened the saddlebags. Well, they weren't really. Shadowmere had no saddle. They were just two large satchels fastened to her back by a leather strap. For the sake of clarity, he always referred to those as saddlebags. The Assassin was fond of practical solutions too. He patted Shadowmere on the side with one hand and picked up some small flasks with the other. As soon as he stopped he took two and gave them to Delphine.

'What is this?' she asked, with her usual inquisitive tone.

'Potions, Lady Doubt. Both made with snowberries, but one with some fly amanita and the other with a couple branches of thistle.'

'And so what? I'm no alchemist.'

'Drink the orange one if our Dragon breathes fire, and the light blue one if it breathes ice. And don't convince yourself that I put some special poisons in them just to have an excuse for not drinking them. And do drink. They might prevent that Dragon from rearranging your face, and I'd like you to still be in one piece by the end of the fight.'

Delphine fit the two small bottles in the sides of her leather armor, looked at the Elf and then gestured him to go first. They went out of the small grove and went towards Kynesgrove, which was just a hundred meters or so ahead. Suddenly, as they walked, a lightning struck the top of a mountain, a great distance ahead of them. It was really far from them, as the thunder reached them a long time after they had seen the flash. Delphine, however, was quite suspicious about the strange silence that covered the small village. When the thunder silenced, complete stillness remained.

'Wait,' said Delphine, stopping. 'Something's wrong.'

'I can see that,' replied the Elf. 'Look at that woman running.'

It was a woman of the town, probably the innkeeper. Yes, Delphine recognized her. She was called Iddra and was a cheerful soul, but now she was running down the slope towards them with her dress filthy and tore on one side.

'No!' she cried to the two. 'You don't want to go up there! A Dragon... it's attacking!'

'Chill down, no Dragon in sight just now,' replied the Dunmer, coolly. 'Where is it?'

'If flew over the town and landed on the old mound. I don't know what it's doing up there, but I'm not waiting around to find out!'

'Wise…' commented the Assassin. 'Go somewhere and hide.'

Delphine watched Iddra sprint past them and going towards the inn again, probably taking shelter in the cellar. She looked at Azrael, but his mask and hood prevented her from seeing his expression. Still, she had the suspect he was grinning.

'And we, instead, are going precisely to find out,' he said, laughing coldly.

'We've become unwise,' Delphine jeered.

Azrael turned suddenly towards her, a gaze of both fake astonishment and sincere amusement in his eyes. Delphine had troubles understanding what was so funny to him until he explained.

'The world collapses…' he laughed. 'Lady Doubt has made a jest. A decent one to boot.'

'It looks like your sarcasm is a severe and contagious illness,' she jested, again. 'Come, let's get this over with.'

They started marching past the inn and onto the road. More lightning bolts struck the mountains, and this time the thunder was stronger then before. The back clouds gathering all over them obscured the Sun, and even if it was near midday it looked like early dawn. Delphine looked at the path leading up the hills, where the Dragon mound was. It was quite simple to follow, even in that dim light. She casted a glance at the Assassin, who looked very aware.

They had barely gone ten meters ahead when a loud roar thundered over the hill.

'Heard that?' asked Delphine.

'As if I couldn't…' sneered the Dunmer. 'Come this way, on the ledge. We need to hurry.'

They immediately abandoned the road, which went around the top of the hill to reach the mound, and took the grassy slope that led upwards. There were some tress and then rocks, which formed a small ledge on which the Assassin treaded quickly, followed right behind by Delphine. They reached a pathway that seemed to go up the hill in the right direction, and after a quick exchange of gestures they began following it. Azrael, however, was looking up. He had the impression that in the dark clouds moved something even darker.

His suspects got pretty much confirmed the very moment when the shape descended and came towards them. It was huge, black and terrifying. Bony spikes covered all its spine, small talon-like growths were at every end of a membrane of its wings. Its scales were dark as slate. In that light not a whole lot else would be seen of it, but that was quite enough.

Azrael halted, putting a hand of both the bow and the quiver, but the Dragon just turned. The gust coming from the one beating of its wings, even if he was quite high in the sky, reached the two and made them tremble on their feet. The huge creature roared loudly, and its roar echoed through the valley, the hills and the volcanic expanses. It continued to even after the monster got out of sight.

'Lorkhan's eyes!' whispered Delphine. 'Look at that big bastard! Keep your head down, let's go see what it does.'

'Steady, Lady Doubt. We need to climb the stone formation. We might be too late nonetheless.'

Azrael looked at the wall of rock that separated them from the mound; the pathway led in another direction, going around even further. They had no time to waste. He breathed deeply and jumped up, grabbing the bare stone spikes and climbing all the way up. Delphine followed him, and she took his hand to reach the top of the short ascent. Her foot slid, but Azrael strengthened his grip and held both him and her, while she recovered and finally reached the top.

'Swift,' murmured the Assassin, crouching down and using the stone crests and boulders as cover. They began to hear the beat of the black Dragon's wings again. 'This is one tough bastard.'

'How do you know?' muttered Delphine in response.

'It was the Dragon who annihilated Helgen, when Ulfric escaped from the Imperials.'

'Damn it, I don't have the slightest clue of what is going on.'

'Silent…' whispered the Assassin, peaking out of the hiding spot.

They were now in front of the mound, and Azrael could not believe his eyes when he laid his gaze upon it. A huge column of pure arcane force was raising from the mound itself straight into the sky and dispersing high up; he could feel the magic shaking his body. Any wizard can somehow feel the magic around him, and there was an unreal amount in that place. The black Dragon hovered above, beating its huge dark wings.

'Sahloknir, ziil gro Dovah ulse.'

Both Azrael and Delphine froze on the spot. It was the black Dragon that had talked. His voice was as deep as the deepest depths. The Assassin looked at it, as it arched its neck.

'Slen… Tiid Vo!'

The Assassin felt a wave of inconceivable energy erupting from the Dragon mouth, just from those three words. As all Shouts, it channeled an amount of power that was beyond any of the possibilities of magic, but those three words shook his very being. He did not understand them, not their meaning, but he sensed the core of their significance. The torrent of force took the shape of a pale blue wave, which collided with the barrow.

From that point onwards, Azrael had to try really hard to convince himself he was not dreaming.

The mound broke open, the rocks flied away and dispersed, raining dust and gravel on the ground. From the cloud of dirt that had raised immediately after, something moved. A cluster of several, thin and bone-white shapes. It was a skeleton, a pile of bones moving of their own will. They resembled the skeleton a Dragon might have, and in fact they looked just like…

 _Just like what was left or Mirmulir once I devoured its soul…_ realized Azrael.

But, unlike the scales and the flesh of Mirmulnir, which had vaporized alongside his soul, the ones of this Dragon, Sahloknir, were actually materializing from naught. The scales were taking shape on the just appeared flesh, and they fit perfectly as they emerged from the shadow.

'Alduin, thuri!' said the Dragon that was taking form. 'Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?'

'Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir.'

Azrael saw the big black Dragon move its head towards him. He knew at once it had seen him right when they crept up there. He breathed deeply, and walked out of the hiding spot. Delphine moved quickly, grabbing him by the cloak, but he just shook it and got rid of her grip. He didn't do that angrily, just coldly.

'What are you doing?' she muttered.

'Speaking with my elder brethren,' he answered.

The two Dragons and their younger brother looked at one another for a short moment. It was confront on a level a Man or a Mer might have never understood. That exchange of short glares and gazes was more intense than a whole battle.

'Ful, losei Dovahkiin?' said the black Dragon, addressing the Assassin. 'Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi.'

Azrael felt a deep shame in surrendering to the fact that he had not understood what his older sibling had said.

'You do not even know our tongue, do you?' asked the black Dragon. 'Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah.'

The Dragonborn looked up, surprised by the fact that the black Dragon had spoken in the current tongue, and quite well too. He stared at him in response, mustering all the strength he could, but even then felt as if he was no match his elder brethren. Alduin, that seemed to be his name. If the gaze of a Dragon could show disgust, that was probably what would have appeared in the eyes of the creature, as it turned back to the other Dov and talked to it again in the Dragon Tongue.

'Sahloknir, krii daar joorre.'

Sahloknir shifted its gaze, and stared in the eyes of the Assassin. They exchanged glances for a moment, and then the Dragon took off, leaving its mortal brother on the ground. It began to be pure chaos. Alduin, the black Dragon, beat its wings two times and flew away, getting out of sight and proceeding beyond the hills and melting with the clouds. The gusts created by it beating its wings almost knocked Azrael off his feet. He planted his left boot in the ground and managed to stand, somehow. Now, however, there was a bigger threat.

'Come on, we need to take that thing down!' cried Delphine, grabbing her bow and aiming at the Dragon.

Sahloknir flied in circles above them, hovering and watching. It was still looking at the Dragonborn, who had grabbed his bow and was now thinking of a good way to take it down. Every now and then their gazes crossed, and those moments they made a battle on their own. The Dragon flied a bit further, and then descended, coming near the ground and arching its neck.

'Yol…'

'Fus… Ro!'

Delphine looked quite amazed as the blue circle of sheer force left the Assassin's mouth and flied towards the Dragon. For a moment she hoped the monster would have got thrown off balance, destabilized and that it would have crashed on the ground. She fired and arrow towards the place she thought the Dragon would have fallen. Unfortunately for them, it wasn't quite going to happen. The arrow got stuck in the clay and hit nothing.

The only two words only made the Dragon sway a little, but successfully prevented it from shouting a fiery inferno on them. Yes, Azrael had looked in the creature's throat before it stopped, and it was a incandescent flame that was taking shape.

'The orange flask, Lady Doubt!' cried the Assassin, nocking an arrow.

His cry got quickly covered by the thundering voice of the Dragon. Delphine grabbed the bottle, untapped it with her teeth and drank the mixture to the last drop. She felt immediately more warm, as if her own skin had absorbed some heat. The Dragon had turned again in the meantime, and was coming for them again. He was staring right at Azrael.

'Dovahkiin, your voice is no match for mine!'

'Maybe not yet… Just maybe,' he hissed, strongly enough for Delphine to hear him.

The Dragon swooped down, arching its neck again. Azrael opened his mouth and tried to shout again, but the flow of power that usually gathered from his body did not answer his call. He felt his very soul and heart refusing. He was asking for more force, which they could not provide. Those two words had drained every single bit of arcane and mental force that was in him. He resigned to the traditional method.

'Dodge, Lady Doubt!'

'Yol…'

Delphine jumped to the left. A bit clumsily, but effectively. The Assassin, on the other hand, got out of the way with a very fluid roll, which he ended by jumping straight back on his feet. Good thing they both did that in time.

'Toor Shul!'

A raging inferno came out of the throat of the Dragon. The stream of flames scorched the ground, leaving a long trail of cinders where once grew the grass. The Dragon flied very close to the ground, and the usual gust made by the wings beating made both Azrael and Delphine stagger back, giving the monster some free time to raise high up again. Delphine fired another arrow, but missed the Dragon by various meters. It wasn't even remotely a close shot. How could it be? The beast moved very fast. It roared loudly.

'My lord Alduin requires your death,' it said. 'I am glad to oblige him.'

'We've got to ground the bastard!' screamed Delphine to the Assassin.

'Exactly my plan, but it's hard to pull off,' he replied, drawing the bow. He had not had the chance to release the arrow yet. He didn't want to waste projectiles, and never had a good shot.

Sahloknir descended again, this time planning to scratch the ground and try to rip through one of those arrogant mortals that were trying to kill it. Maybe not the Dovahkiin, it would have spared him for when they would have been alone. It aimed for the other one, the female, who was tormenting it with her projectiles.

The Dragon turned abruptly and nosedived, stretching its claws as far as it could.

'Delphine, watch out!' screamed the Dragonborn, but it was already too late.

He had to save her by himself.

 _Fine… This will be my most difficult shot yet. Azura's willing, it will hit in time._

The Dragonborn reached for the quiver and took another arrow. Delphine was staring at the Dragon coming towards her, looking at her sides and not sure what to do. He nocked both arrows as quickly as he could; the nock almost slipped past the string; But it didn't, he managed. Meanwhile she backed off, the worst thing one could possibly do. He drew the bow, as far as he could. She tried to duck, which was useless.

And then he finally released the shot.

Those arrows were perfectly aimed, and so they were not struggling to reach a target in a spot where it might hurt. They were trying to reach that spot in time. It was just that. A battle again time. Alduin has already won it, resurrecting his sibling. He had undone time with flesh, but this time Azrael had to undo flesh with steel. Something a lot more common, and a lot more difficult because of that. The projectiles closed the distance as the talons of the Dragon were about to touch Delphine. She jumped backwards, but tripped and fell down on her back.

Al last, the two arrows sank in between the sinews that connected the abdomen to both wings. The Dragon snapped his claws back, closer to itself, and their sharp ends just passed a millimeter over the face of Delphine, who looked at them without understanding how that could have happened. A deafening roar came out of the Dragon's mouth, as it rolled forward crashing through the rock and trampling all over the tress and the bushes.

 _Those wings…_ Azrael though, sneering. _They might be useful and all, but damn if they are fragile…_

The Assassin ran towards Delphine, and for the third time since they had know each other offered her a helping hand. This was the first time she took it without the slightest doubt, and in fact she did so happily. She did not yet understand how she was alive.

'Are you well?' asked the Assassin.

'I've been worse.'

Another roar reminded them of Sahloknir. Injured, but not dead, the Dragon had recovered and was now… walking? I don't know. Let's say moving towards them. Its eyes burned with anger, and this time they found no shame or sense of inferiority in the Dovahkiin's ones. The creature breathed heavily, and smoke came out of its mouth.

'It's to be a real fight, then. Good!' it growled.

Azrael had put his bow away, and now had grabbed his dagger. The Blade of Woe shined darkly in the dim light, and the curved swords of Delphine squeaked as she drew them out of the sheath.

'Come on! This is our best chance!' she screamed, grabbing both blades and charging.

Azrael, running alongside her, looked like a daemon rather than a mere mortal. The blade raised above his head, the cloak waving behind him and scorching flames coming out of his very skin and flowing out from the joints of the armor. He was burning messenger of death, a living host of the flames and of the darkness. If Titus Mede had looked at him in that moment, he would have understood what an aspect of the Left Hand of Fate can be. He is not just the Assassin, he is also the Destroyer. And what better way to represent destruction if not fire?

Sahloknir first crushed its hurt wing onto the Assassin, but he just ducked and sprinted ahead. It then tried to extend its neck and bite him. That was a terrible decision. The Dragonborn dodged to the right and out of the way, and before the Dragon could do anything else it felt the a blade slashing its jaw. Yes. The extremes of the mouth are very fragile, for humanoids and Dragons alike. The Blade of Woe cut that without any problem. The Dragon roared, trying to advance and crush Azrael under its weight. But he couldn't.

'Fus… Ro!'

Sahloknir could not react quickly enough. The blue circle hit it and made it crumble. The creature collapsed to the ground, and could not do anything to defend itself. A long blade, the one of Delphine, got into its mouth and stabbed its throat. No scales to protect it there. It tried to bite the arm holding the blade, but before it could another strike connected, and this one came from the Dragonborn. It pierced its head, right between two scales.

The Dragon fell over, and his head hit the ground.

'I'll be damned, you did it!' said Delphine. 'That was well done. Come on. I've been wanting a closer look at one of these buggers.'

She backed off slightly when the Dragon, unexpectedly, raised its head a bit. A humanoid would have been dead already, but not a Dov.

'Dovahkiin… Your Voice is strong.'

'Wait. Something's happening…' muttered Delphine. 'Gods above!'

Time was getting reversed again. This once in the right direction. The scales of Sahloknir began to fade, their shape to wane and tremble. Its flesh started to vanish. A flow of pure energy, very similar to the one coming out from the mound before, was now flowing our from the body of the Dragon towards the Dragonborn. Delphine noticed that he had closed his eyes.

'So you really are…'

It was the third Dragon he killed, and that was something he still needed to get used to. One could never really get used to it, truly, but could know what to expect. He didn't, not yet. He heard the memories the his sibling. He listened to them.

When all ended, Azrael opened his eyes again. He sighed deeply.

'Farewell, dear sibling.'

Delphine looked at him, and after a moment he looked at her. She smirked.

'I owe you some answers, don't I?'


	4. A similar purpose

The sky was now clear. The thunderstorm had gone South, and it was raining down on the mountains instead Kynegrowth. The Sun of the afternoon shined bright, and gave the land completely different colors. The desolation of the volcanic expanse wasn't so grim with that light, and the hills were not as sinister as before, in all that darkness. Deeper into the Rift, nearer to the mountains, the lightning bolts kept striking and the thunderclaps kept coming, but now the dark clouds did not darken the sky that much.

Azrael turned around, looking at Delphine, who was behind him on the back of Shadowmere. The horse was just trotting, since both the Dragonborn and his companion had had a small meal and were not in a hurry to come back. Not as much as they were coming there, that's for sure. As much as Shadowmere seemed pretty much tireless, she didn't appear to scoff at that moment of tranquility. Both the Dragonborn and his ally needed that calm to speak.

'Who are you?'

'I'm one of the last member of the Blades.'

'Blades?'

'Exactly.'

'Never heard of them.'

'Nobody even remembers our name these days. A very long time ago, the Blades were Dragon-slayers, and we served the Dragonborn, the greatest of Dragon-slayers. Those days are long gone, though. For the last two hundred years, since the last Dragonborn Emperor, the Blades have been searching for a purpose. We've been searching for the next Dragonborn to guide and guard, as we are sworn to do. For all that time. Now that the Dragons are coming back, our purpose is clear again. We need to stop them, and we need a Dragonborn to do it. But we never found one. Well, until today.'

'And what do you want of me, specifically?'

'I'm all that's left of the Blades, and you're the Dragonborn. Together we're going to stop these Dragons, if we have to put every last one of them back in the ground.'

'And what is our next move, then?'

'The first thing we need to do is figure out who's behind their return. The Thalmor are our best lead. If they aren't involved, they'll know who is.'

'Poor Elves, what have they done to you to deserve that kind of hatred?'

'Before the Great War, the Blades helped the Empire against the Thalmor. Our Grand Master saw them as the greatest threat to Tamriel. At the time, that was true. Maybe it still is. So we fought them in the shadows, all across Tamriel. We thought we were more than a match for them. We were wrong.'

'As much as I respect your hatred, what makes you think the Thalmor are behind all of this?'

'Nothing solid. Yet. But my gut tells me it can't be anybody else. The Empire had captured Ulfric. The war was basically over. Then a Dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is back on. And now the Dragons are attacking everywhere, indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened, the Empire is weakened. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?'

'Don't know. Fine, we'll go with that. So, we need to find out what the Thalmor know about the Dragons. Any ideas?'

'If we could get into the Thalmor Embassy… it's the center of their operations in Skyrim… Problem is, that place is locked up tighter than a miser's purse. They could teach me a few things about paranoia…'

'Damn, that's a dreadful thing to say.'

'Will you stop mocking me, already?'

'I might try, but I doubt it. How do we get into the Embassy, anyway?'

'I'm not sure yet. I have a few ideas, but I'll need some time to pull things together… Once we get to Riverwood, I'll need a few days to contact acquaintances, write to some old contacts and such.'

'Tell me, last and only member of the one-woman-army known as the Blades… What happened to all of you?'

'The Thalmor happened.'

Azrael sneered. She was dead serious, he could not even guess if that was a jest or not.

'They've been hunting down every Blade they can find for the past thirty years. Thanks to the White Gold Concordat, they've been able to operate throughout the Empire with impunity.'

'This White Gold piece of paper again? Would you mind explaining what is it about?'

'Where have you lived for the past twenty-five years? Under a rock or in a plane of Oblivion?'

'Morrowind, so… Close enough. I would not have given it up for any other place, mind you, but it's as close to a plane of Oblivion as you can get as of late. Anyway, you were telling me about that scrap…'

'The Great War… only thirty years past and already ancient history to most people. Seems to me like it just ended… it's never really ended for me,' she murmured, as if lost in thought. 'But to answer your question, the White Gold Concordat was the fancy name they put on the peace treaty between the Empire and the Thalmor. It ended the war and saved the Empire to fight another day. Also trampled on the sacred name of Talos, and gave the Thalmor free reign to stamp out Talos worship throughout the Empire.'

'And the Empire just stands by, watching?'

'Sadly. Part of the cost of peace. Emperor Titus Mede saved his Empire at a very high price. A price that included the end of the Blades. The Nords didn't like the peace treaty much either. Thirty years later, the Empire ends up with the Stormcloak rebellion on its hands. No doubt exactly as the Thalmor intended.'

'But if the Blades are destroyed, why do they want you so much?'

'They know some survived the massacre. I was one of the few who escaped. For a long time, all I cared about was staying alive, and taking revenge on the Thalmor when I could. But then the Dragons returned.'

'But from where do these Altmer with that stylish name come from?'

'That's quite the tale. They're the rulers of the Aldmeri Dominion, what used to be the Imperial provinces of Summerset Isle and Valenwood. The Thalmor take the arrogance of High Elves to the extreme. They believe they are the rightful rulers of all of Tamriel. For a century or more, the Thalmor had been picking away at the Empire. Valenwood was the first, then the province of Elsweyr. But even the Blades didn't see the Great War coming. We underestimated the Thalmor, and they destroyed us.'

'Fine.'

'Satisfied?'

'For now. That's a lot of information to process.'

'Your curiosity is bottomless. It might get you killed some day.'

'An old dear friend of mine used to say the same thing.'

'Really?'

'Yeah… Damn, I too have been young and stupid.'

'How much time ago did she tell you this?'

The Assassin turned, his eyes flashing.

'Two months? Maybe a bit more.'

'Well, I must say you get old quite quickly,' sighed Delphine.

'I do, indeed,' sneered the Assassin. 'Listen, since we are talking about old age… What is up between you and the Greybeards?'

'If they had their way, you'd do nothing but sit up on their mountain with them and talk to the sky, or whatever it is they do,' she said, a new spark or ire kindling her voice. 'The Greybeards are so afraid of power that they won't use it. Think about it. Have they tried to stop the civil war, or done anything about the Dragons? No. And they're afraid of you, of your power. Trust me, there's no need to be afraid. Think of Tiber Septim. Do you think he'd have founded the Empire if he'd listened to the Greybeards?'

'Power can be dangerous.'

'Only if you don't know how to use it. All the great heroes have had to learn to use their power. Those that shrank from their destiny… well, you've never heard of them, have you? And there are the villains: those that misused their power. There's always a choice, and there's always a risk. But if you live in fear of what might go wrong, you'll end up doing nothing. Like the Greybeards up on their mountain.'

'Well, I'm not afraid of my power…'

'Good. The Greybeards can teach you a lot, but don't let them turn you away from your destiny. You're Dragonborn, and you're the only one who can stop the Dragons. Don't forget it.'

'You did not even let me finish the sentence. I was saying that I don't fear my powers, but you have to be able to tell what is good and what is evil to use it correctly. That's a tragically hard thing to know.'

'Why? Where is the difficulty in it?'

'I don't want to play the alien at all costs, but I don't think you can quite understand me.'

'Fine, giving you that one.'

They stopped talking. They had already gone past Windhelm and avoided the stables. Azrael looked back at the Blade and gestured her to hold firm. She gripped his waists, and the Assassin bent closer to the head of Shadowmere.

'Girl… Fast now.'

Shadowmere snorted and accelerated. Seconds after she was moving fast as lightning.

* * *

'Dah…'

The shimmering runes appeared on the floor, as had happened before. Azrael looked at it, thinking intensely and trying to think to the direct translation as little as he could. "Push" may have been a good translation, but that didn't quite fit the power hidden in that Word. He felt the deep meaning, but could not understand it. Not yet.

'With all three Words, this Shout is much more powerful. Use it wisely…'

 _They really do care a lot about using power wisely. That's the part of Delphine's reasoning that just doesn't cut for me. They want to use it wisely, not necessarily for the best. That is one tough thing. That's why they don't do all the good things she wants them to do. They're not afraid, they are just skeptical. Now I see that. That Blade looks too much like Aela, and that disturbs me slightly. I still haven't digested that completely. Maybe one day I'll forgive her. Maybe…_

Master Wulfgar bowed his head, crossing his fingers. Azrael began to feel the true meaning of the Word he had just learned flow into him. It was a meaning very specific to a mortal, and he felt that it was specific to a human as well. The Dunmer had to think of his own to comprehend it, because the various links that the Greybeard had created in his own mind in order to understand the Word meant really little or nothing to him. The more Wulfgar opened his arms and let out the hidden secret of the Word, the more Azrael understood that "push" was a tragic understatement. "Dah" meant a lot more than that. It was like propelling something with great strength, releasing an impulse of incredible force that thrusts back everything it touches.

'Now that you've completed your training, Dragonborn, we will speak to you,' said Arngeir. 'Stand between us and prepare yourself.'

The Assassin stepped back, and positioned himself in the exact center or the square the four formed.

'Few can withstand the unbridled Voice of the Greybeards, but you are ready.'

Azrael moved his right leg a bit father. He did not know what was coming, or what was going to happen. However, Arngeir had said that just the whisper of a Greybeard is enough to shake the ground. It that happened, his feet would have been firmly planted on the floor. He looked up, in a strange gesture of exposing his chest and throat, and looked at the ceiling. The Greybeards raised their hands.

'Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau.'

Azrael bent his knees and had to put a hand on the floor to not fall down. That was worse than he expected. The Words tore through the air, shaking all around him. The other Greybeards had a voice that was not theirs. It was the pure expression of power, something they received in exchange of their own voice. The arcane force that ran through the air, the ground, the body of the Elf even, was inconceivable. It was almost as much as the amount that Alduin gathered in resurrecting Sahloknir, but he was at a safe distance that time. This once the center and the focus of all that strength was him.

'Naal Thu'umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth.'

Some of those Words were more powerful than others. He noticed that the specifically the Words "Thu'um" and "Dovahkiin" had almost made him lose his balance, while the rest of the sentence merely made the floor quake. Those two however, seemed to resonate with all the arcane energy that he had in his body and mind.

'Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok.'

The Assassin breathed deeply, and bent down, putting both fists on the ground. His heart was beating quickly, very quickly. His vision was blurred, the outlines of all objects shimmering.

'You have tasted the Voice of the Greybeards and passed through unscathed,' declared Arngeir. 'High Hrothgar is open to you.'

Azrael shook his head strongly, and then raised up. His sight was still unclear.

'What did you just say to me?' he asked.

'Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our Voice we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to it,' Arngeir translated.

'Was that a trail of some kind?'

'In a way, yes.'

Azrael had a lot more to ask. He was literally bursting with question never asked and doubts never clarified, but… He just didn't trust those old Nords. Maybe because they were humans? Maybe because they were so bound by tradition? Maybe because of the things Delphine told him? It could have very well been all those, or no one. He just felt that those men were teaching him something but that they would not have been able to explain further. The explanation Arngeir gave him were very precise and formal. The Assassin felt as a mere machine himself when he talked to him. One day he would have found the answer, perhaps. He was not so sure of anything after the few months he had lived in Skyrim.

'Master…' said Azrael to Arngeir. 'I'd like to learn more about the Voice.'

'You have learned so much already, Dragonborn,' he answered, in his usual formal tone. 'Growing your gift too quickly would be dangerous. But there are many Words of Power in Skyrim, carved in the Dragon tongue. Even from here, we can feel the Thu'um resonate from them. Finding these lost Words would be a sufficient test, to temper your abilities with experience. Ask when you are ready to search.'

'Have you located any?'

'We have felt the whisper of a Word. Give me your map, and I will show you where its echo can be found.'

Azrael gave to him the hand-drawn map he carried around. The Greybeard did not draw on it, he just put his fingers on one spot and the paper near it began to glow.

'It's quite near…' whispered the Assassin. 'I'll go there right now. Thanks Master. I'm going.'

'May the Voice of Wisdom guide you, Dragonborn.'

 _Yeah, the Voice of Wisdom. If there was a thing of that such, you would not be here doing nothing but meditating. You don't have to make the choices I do, you don't have to use your power to intervene in every matter, to eliminate every obstacle that stands in your way. Delphine might not be right about you, but she's right about me. I can't sit with you here, doing nothing. I'd like to, but I can't. As Dragonborn, my fate is to kill first and understand next. But how will I be able to explain this to you? I don't think you'd even be able to understand. I pray to the Daedra that someone exists that can understand my doubts and explain to me this fate I've been given._


	5. Weaving the scheme

'Not a moment too late, I see.'

'I'm used to come earlier than asked. If I arrive late my enemies will know I'm there.'

'A serious sentence always results in an awful jest when talking with you,' sighed the Blade. 'Anyway, I figured out how we're going to get you into the Thalmor Embassy.'

'You beloved paranoia proved stronger than your hatred,' commented the Assassin, enigmatically. He explained only upon seeing Delphine frowning. 'You said that I am to enter the Embassy. I was sure you would come with me and take your revenge.'

'I would have,' she replied. 'Long ago. But I'm not a girl anymore. I know that it would be certain death to go into that place. They don't know you, not yet, and that's a great advantage for us. And that's why we can't afford to do stupid things. This is our only chance.'

'You've actually taken less than I thought.'

'Well, I see you've been busy even in this short time. I don't even what to know what happened to those idiots,' she replied, pointing at a blood stain on his cuirass. 'Anyway, I can confirm it didn't take me long. I've been doing this a long time. While the Thalmor's been looking for me, I've been watching them.'

'Delphine… As much as I respect your plan and your experience and I know that it will be worth our while, why can't I infiltrate there and do what I do best?'

'You'll probably need to do that, Azrael,' she replied. 'But it's the first part that's not right. You first need to infiltrate into the Embassy, and my way is the only way. I've seen you fight, and I've gathered information about you. Oh, yes…' she said, noticing the eyebrow of the Dunmer raising and his eyes flashing. 'I've gathered as much information about you as I could since I've returned here. You're quite a sinister character, and one that is fatally able at slaying. Or, at least, that's what they say. This once, however, storming the Embassy to allow you to enter in not an option. Trust me. My way's better. And the only one.'

'Just what I wanted to hear. Now, fill me in with all the details.'

'The Thalmor ambassador, Elenwen, regularly throws parties where the rich and connected cozy up to the Thalmor. I can get you into one of those parties. Once you're inside the Embassy, you get away and find Elenwen's secret files. I have a contact inside the Embassy. He's not up for this kind of high-risk mission, but he can help you. His name is Malborn, a Wood Elf, plenty of reason to hate the Thalmor. You can trust him. I've sent word for him to meet you in Solitude, at the Winking Skeever. While you're doing that, I'll work on getting you an invitation to Elenwen's little party. If you'll permit me to accompany you on your daemon-horse again then I'll be able to settle matters quickly. You'll meet me at the Solitude stables after you've arranged things with Malborn. Any questions?'

'Sounds surprisingly simple and yet dreadfully difficult.'

'Precisely. That is why we only have one chance.'

'Just a couple things… Being you, I expect that this contact of yours is truly worthy of trust. Can you guarantee he wouldn't sell us in if he is discovered?'

'Don't worry about Malborn. He's not even remotely a dangerous character like you, but he hates the Thalmor at least as much as I do. The Thalmor wiped out his family back in Valenwood during one of their purges that we never hear about. Luckily they don't know who he really is, or he wouldn't be serving drinks at the Ambassador's parties.'

'Good. Next thing: you assure me we'll get in the Embassy. How does that work?'

'Let me handle that. You'll have a real invitation, don't worry. As long as you can act the part of a Thalmor toady, you'll get past the guards.'

'How boring… I hope the fun starts when I get past those guards.'

'Bullseye. You'll have to slip away from the party without raising the alarm. Then you'll need to find Elenwen's office and search her files. Malborn should be able to point you in the right direction.'

'Fine, I can handle that.'

'That's good.' she said, adjusting one of her bracers and casting a glance at the two blades lying against the wall. 'I guess it's all ready. We can leave as soon as you will.'

'Are the parties scheduled?'

'They are. Malborn told me there's one this afternoon, and a new one in two days.'

'Then let's go right now.'

'Can we get to Solitude for midday? It's the crack of dawn almost.'

'We'll get there by midday. I'll be in this very afternoon and all will be done by dusk. You'll wait for me near the stables, where we'll split. If I'm not back by midnight, you go your own way and return here. Sounds fine?'

'Sounds perfect. So much so I think there must be a giant gaping hole we're not seeing.'

'That's an awkward effect of tension, Lady Doubt. Come, let's eat something and then get going.'

'Let's.'

* * *

'We need to go up this slope.'

'Wait a moment. Let me go now, I'll have more time.'

Azrael made no answer, but pulled the hair of Shadowmere a little bit. She snorted and started to slow down, trotting calmly. Delphine jumped down the back of the horse and went towards the city, saying nothing herself.

The Assassin looked around, searching for a good place to hide Shadowmere, but the small woods up the hill and closer to the rock formations was the safer and less obvious spot. He stirred her towards the left, and the horse went up the slope very quickly. Half way up Azrael jumped down and waited for her to arrive at the small grove. Once in there she backed in the trees, hiding in the shadows.

'Good girl,' said the Elf. 'Be seeing you soon.'

Azrael went down the hill, and then returned to the main road. It was best for him not to get noticed too much, or someone might have recognized the mysterious figure that walked in Solitude right before the attempted assassination of the Emperor. His shady figure was unlike anything else he himself, at least, had seen. Other assassins or dark characters that would wear something similar to what he had usually did not have any important matters to resolve in full daylight. He had though, and he would have managed as well as he could.

The road leading to the Solitude gates from the stables was very long. It would have been a very good means of defense in case someone attacked. The Assassin's keen eye examined the distance that was between where he now was and the walls. Two hundred meters, more or less. If enough archers were placed on the wall, any attacker would have been in a really rough spot. Trying to get up that small road under fire would have led to great casualties. That, however, was not of any interest to the Assassin besides theory-crafting. He would have never needed to storm something up front like that.

All went smoothly while approaching the city. The guards at the gate let him pass without any question, although they casted more than one suspicious glance at him. He gave them back a flaming glare and they quickly turned their heads away, closing the heavy gate behind him as soon as he got in.

Azrael looked around. Solitude was as busy as ever, even more so than when he got there to kill the fake Emperor. Merchants with fancy dresses and sailors with heavy loads of merchandise wandered in the streets, looking for the shop to which they could sell their goods. Meanwhile all kinds of vendors, workers, soldiers and diplomats were walking around, going to wherever they needed to go, and doing so quickly. There was a strong tension in the air, and not because of some looming threat, but because of the relatively low anxiety that everyone had. However, even that low amount multiplied by the amount of people present was truly a lot.

The Assassin felt that frenzy touching him and dragging him into the chaotic mess of the city activities, but he shrugged it off with a deep sigh. The Winking Skeever was his destination, and that was not far away.

He walked towards the building, easily recognizable by the sign. He kept close to the wall and trying to avoid attention. In that confusion it was quite easy for him to do that, but he never gave anything for granted and kept at a distance, continuously observing the crowd and making sure no one was paying attention to him. An old beggar casted a quick glance at him, but only frowned and then looked away. A merchant also looked, but turned his gaze immediately after.

He got to the door of the inn, and opened it quickly.

'Welcome, traveler!' said the innkeeper. 'Do you need anything?'

Azrael approached a little before answering. He did not want to raise his voice and attract too much attention with his clear Dunmer accent.

'No, thanks,' he replied. 'I'm looking for someone. Should I need anything, I'll be sure to tell you.'

'No hurry. Just sit and relax.'

 _I'll be able to sit and relax once I'm dead, it seems…_ the Dark Elf said to himself. _It feels like I'm running around since the very day I arrived in Skyrim._

He looked around, looking for Malborn. A Wood Elf would not have been difficult to recognize.

 _That's a Nord. He… no, she's an Imperial._ _Pointy ears? Where are you hiding?_ thought the Assassin grinning behind the mask. _I need you, fellow. What…? An Argonian even. In that other corner… Oh, there you are._

The Wood Elf sat in a corner, behind a small table with only two chairs around it, one of which was occupied by him. The other one was begging for someone to arrive. Azrael walked over, noticing the gaze of the Wood Elf following him. He sat in front of the Bosmer without too much formalities, not even greeting him.

'What can I do for you?' he asked, in the stereotypic and energetic way a Wood Elf usually has.

'Our… Mutual acquaintance sent me here,' answered the Dunmer, glacial.

Malborn's eyebrows sprang right upwards.

'Really?' he mumbled. 'You're who she picked? I hope she knows what she's doing.'

'Am I wrong in any way?'

'I mean you look… quite fit for the job,' admitted the Bosmer. 'But this is infiltration. I hoped in someone a bit less… special. Listen, I don't have much time. Here's the deal: I can smuggle some equipment into the Embassy for you. Don't plan on bringing anything else in with you. The Thalmor take security very seriously. I'm ready to go. Give me what you can't live without, and I'll make sure to get it into the Embassy. The rest is up to you.'

'So I get to bring something in…' whispered the Assassin, not believing his luck. He had though of something like hiding a dagger somewhere, but that would not have been necessary. 'What kind of thing can I give you?'

'Whatever you need to move quietly and kill quickly. I'll bring your junk in a wagon with the food, so you can give me things of large size.'

'Fine…' said the Assassin. 'In that case, wait a minute.'

'I'll give you a few more minutes. I can't wait here all day. It's my neck on the line, remember.'

The hooded and masked Dunmer stood up and left without saying anything more. He went upstairs, advancing two steps at a time. His long cloak waved behind him as he disappeared from the sight of the Bosmer, who had turned around to look at him.

The Wood Elf sighed deeply. The part where he had no control over the situation had just ended. Now it was his time to act. Tension gripped his belly like a steel grasp, and his neck was so rigid that even the smallest movement made the bones crack. His friend had chosen wisely, although he did not know she in turn did not have much of a choice herself. Delphine was straight and serious with him, and he knew she could be trusted. He owed her a favor, and it was time he repaid it. On the other hand, after that he would have never been able to work for the Thalmor anymore; it was an act that would force him to move on and find something new to do. The possibility of dying was way too high for his tastes, but the feeling of sacrificing himself while playing a horrible prank on the Thalmor made him content enough.

That Dunmer he had encountered was quite peculiar. He seemed very sure of means, his abilities and himself in general. He was someone that just could have confronted Delphine and stay on an even foot with her unbearable suspicion and inhuman stubbornness. The glacial voice of that Dark Elf had calmed him. His emotionless tone had shown the complete confidence he had in the success of the mission. Malborn really needed someone like him as a pal in that operation. His anxiety was enough for two. He had suffered from persecution complexes ever since the Thalmor had dropped in his home, in one of the purges. Luckily, none knew his secret. Apart from Delphine, that is. Maybe their common past made of escapes and their common issues of paranoia drew them closer, although they never really became friends. They were just contacts. Nothing more, northing less.

The Bosmer got distracted by a new guest that came close to his table. He froze, but kept his composure. The newcomer had come from behind him, maybe down the stairs. He was a Dunmer as well, and a very strange one at that. He had long hair that fell back on his shoulders, black as the wings of a raven, and so was his beard. A full beard, and not trimmed too short at that. Strange. Not a lot of Dark Elves had that. His eyes were red, no surprise there, and there was a familiar flare in them. A long, gaping scar came down his left temple and continued on the whole cheek, almost reaching the chin. His black beard covered it, but the darker color of the wounded skin was very noticeable. His complexion, the Bosmer noticed, was of the very color of ash. It was not the grey with that barely noticeable tawny tint that the vast majority of the Dark Elves had. It was perfectly grey. Absolutely colorless.

Malborn was quite impressed by the height of that Dunmer; it was not quite as tall as an Altmer, but close enough. His muscles were toned, his body vigorous and his shoulders broad. He wore a simple black tunic, and held a medium-size case, made of wood.

The Bosmer was utterly confused.

'Can I do something for you, sir?' he asked.

'Azura's sake, Malborn…' hissed the Assassin, in his strangely deep voice. 'We spoke to each other no time ago.'

'Oh…' the Bosmer gasped. 'It's you! I did not recognize you!'

'I noticed,' he replied, with glacial sarcasm. 'Now pack these thing with you, and don't touch anything. Some things in there are worth more than this whole city. If you can help it, try not to make it stir. There's some potions in there.'

'Perfect. The noise of them should make them think it's just a case full of wine.'

'Good. See you at the Embassy in a while. Good luck, Malborn.'

'I really need it.'

* * *

Delphine cast an annoyed glare at the Dunmer monk that was walking towards her. He was going directly towards her.

'What do you want?' she snapped.

'Damn it… Don't recognize your dear old Dragonborn?'

Delphine stopped for a moment, and then smirked weakly.

'I didn't recognize you. I imagined you different behind the mask.'

'You'll tell me some other time. Now, onto the matters at hand…'

'Have you given Malborn the gear you want to smuggle into the Embassy?'

'I did.'

'Good. I have your invitation to the party,' she said, giving him a piece of paper, 'but the only way you're going to get past the guards is if they really believe you're an invited guest. Which means you need to look the part, and not robed in black like you are. Here, put this on,' she continued, giving him a quite fancy tunic she had with her.

'Anything else? Hm… Delphine, could you help me with this?' asked the Dunmer.

'Sure,' she answered. Two soldiers trying to figure out how a formal dress was to be worn is a very funny sight. The Blade continued after a bit. 'And, one more thing. It's best if you leave me all the things you still have with you. I'll keep them safe until you get back. You'll only have what Malborn smuggled in for you, plus whatever you can pick up inside.'

'Fair enough. Damn…' whispered Azrael, as he tried to put on the new clothes. 'This must is more expensive than anything I've ever worn in my life.'

'Aside from your armor and your blade,' commented Delphine.

'No. Those are not in this category, because they are straight up priceless. Their worth cannot be calculated with money.'

'They have value, then. Very rare.'

'No,' replied the Assassin, his voice cold. 'Nothing has value in this world.'

'You're quite the cynical type, aren't you?' asked back the Blade.

'Life has treated me hard. Well…' he said, moving his shoulders and trying to fit in the tunic, which seemed to burst on the shoulders and the dorsal muscles. 'I hate it, but it will do.'

'I guess. You should pass for a real guest, at least until you open your mouth. Ready to board the carriage to the embassy?'

'Yes. Take these…' he said, handing her a key-ring with quite a lot of keys in it and some throwing daggers. 'The only thing that didn't fit the case I gave your Bosmer. The rest is in Shadowmere's saddlebags.'

'Don't worry, they will all be waiting for you when you get back. Just make sure you get back out of there alive with the information we need. Good luck.'

'Thanks, Lady Doubt. See you soon.'


	6. Into the Lion's Den

'All the security checks have been done?'

'Of course they have, Ondolemar. Do you think I would overlook them, now that we are so close?'

'I certainly do not. I was just making sure.'

'You can be sure,' replied Elenwen, a reassuring and secure tone in her voice. 'This is the Thalmor Embassy, and it's under my responsibility and jurisdiction. No one enters or leaves this place without my permission, and no one will ever try to force his way in here. Oh… A new guest just arrived.'

Ondolemar, Thalmor Justiciar in Markarth, looked at the newcomer sideways. At first he though him to be an Altmer like them, but quickly noticed that his skin was ashen-colored. He was a Dunmer, a pretty tall and vigorous one. He had long hair, black as raven feathers, a full beard and a long scar that went from his left temple to his cheek. Ondolemar kept an eye on the new guest.

'Welcome,' began Elenwen. 'I don't believe we've met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And you are…?'

'My name is Azrael. It's a pleasure to meet you,' answered the Dark Elf. His voice was deep. And glacial.

'Ah, yes. I remember your name from the guest list. Please, tell me more about yourself. What brings you to this… to Skyrim?'

The two were interrupted by the Wood Elf standing at the counter. Ondolemar casted him a suspicious glance.

'Madame Ambassador, I'm sorry to interrupt…' said the Bosmer.

'What is it, Malborn?' snapped Elenwen.

'It's just that we've run out of the Alto wine. Do I have your permission to uncork the Arenthia red…'

'Of course. I've told you before not to bother me with such trifles.'

'Yes, Madame Ambassador,' replied the Bosmer, bowing his head.

'Sorry, we were saying? I forgot…' said Elenwen, turning her attention back to the Dunmer. 'No matter. Please, help yourself to more wine.'

'Gladly.' replied the Dunmer.

Ondolemar followed the Dark Elf with his gaze, looking at him exchanging a few words with Malborn. They spoke in hushed and quite frantic tones, although there was a large courteous smile on the mouth of the Bosmer and the Thalmor Justiciar could just barely see the sarcastic grin on Azrael's lips. The Wood Elf poured him some liquor, and then the Dunmer immediately engaged Elenwen in conversation again. This calmed Ondolemar. It meant he wasn't avoiding her.

'I can see you spared no expense,' the Dark Elf commented, sipping from the goblet.

'Of course not. One does not gather the most important men and women of Skyrim and then serve them cheap ale and stale bread.' explained Elenwen. 'This is only a taste of the benefits that accrue to those that align themselves with Thalmor interests.'

'Do you host these parties often?'

'Quite often, yes. The only thing I enjoy more than luxury is sharing that luxury with those who can appreciate it. But I also enjoy learning the latest gossip and hear the most intriguing rumors.'

'What does your position as Thalmor Ambassador involve? Apart from learning gossip and hearing rumors.'

'One of my main duties is to foster a better understanding between the Aldmeri Dominion and the people of Skyrim. I also oversee the activities of the Thalmor Justiciars throughout Skyrim, although this has been unfortunately disrupted by the war.'

'Because the Justiciars are supposed to do what, precisely?'

Ondolemar focused again on the Dunmer for a moment. That question regarding the internal organization and affairs of the Thalmor sounded suspicious to him, but Elenwen did not seem to care and answered him. She was quite confident in her defenses against spies.

'The Thalmor Justiciars are so often misunderstood. Our primary goal is to preserve the peace between the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion. The worship of the false god Talos contributed to the unfortunate friction that led to the Great War. Following the Great War, the White-Gold Concordat set out the terms for peaceful coexistence between the two powers. The Empire and the Dominion agreed that the worship of Talos was a relic of the past, and must be eliminated in the interests of peace. But I'm sure you didn't come here for a lecture on high politics.'

'I certainly am not. Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like to greet someone else here.'

'Do as you please. The hospitality of the Thalmor Embassy is at your service.'

Azrael walked into the room, recognizing a few familiar faces. Mainly from Solitude, and the one that immediately got his attention was the young and delicate face of Jarl Elisif the Fair. The woman was speaking to Erikur, one of her Thanes, but broke off as soon as she saw the Dark Elf approaching.

'Azrael!' she cried. 'It's been so long!'

'Not that long, actually,' replied the Dunmer, smiling weakly and bowing slightly.

'Well, it's been at least a week. That's long,' she said. She was actually about to embrace him, but thought twice about it. They were in plain sight, and in plain sight of people that are not too known for being reserved.

The Assassin raised an eyebrow, in fake exasperation. He had paid her a visit very early in the morning after having killed Titus Mede II, but he could not tell her about that. Not in that moment, not in the relationship they were in. They first encountered at Vittoria Vici's wedding, and that wouldn't have been the perfect moment to know someone new; Azrael, however, had played it smart, and returned to her after the attack. That had had the double effect of shifting the blame and of reassuring her that the talk they had during the party was not just a shallow discussion, but maybe the beginning of a stable friendship.

But that was some time ago. Now, the Assassin needed her to do something.

'My Jarl, you still owe me a favor. Don't you?'

'I do, Azrael. Tell me, is there something you need?'

'That's… Quite strange really, but I need you to cause a distraction.'

'Truly? To what end?'

'I'll tell you another time.'

'But…'

'Don't complain. It will be an excuse to come and visit you in a few days. Are you in?'

'I am. Do I start right now?'

'As soon as you can.'

The guests were drinking and talking, Elenwen herself was sipping some expensive wine and discussing politics and diplomacy with the Jarl of Markarth. Meanwhile, Ondolemar was discussing with a Thalmor soldier. They were talking about important events and matters that were best resolved quickly, if not at the party then immediately after. Both him and the soldier were quite surprised when the raised voice of Jarl Elisif the Fair resounded in the small room.

'What…! Do you know who I am? I should have you taken up and flogged!'

They stopped being surprised when they saw towards whom her rage was focused. Ondolemar shook his head. That young, fragile human could have reacted like that to anything, especially if it came from the mouth of Razelan. He was always drunk, the Justiciar did not understand why Elenwen kept inviting him. Every time he caused a scene, and at the end swore to behave the next time around. That scene had played out a lot of times already. The drunkard, in spite of that, looked utterly confused. Ondolemar wondered if Razelan had forgot what he had just said; he wouldn't have been surprised.

'Of course I know who you are…' replied the drunk. 'I didn't mean to suggest, that is, I don't even remember saying that…'

Bullseye. Oldolemar grinned, and leaned against a wall.

'There's no excuse for your behavior!' screamed Elisif. 'You behave like you're carousing in a house of ill repute, not the residence of the Thalmor Ambassador!'

'Razelan…' intervened Elenwen, sounding annoyed. 'And you promised to behave yourself this time. Remove him. He's disturbing the other guests.'

'I protest!' he screamed. 'This is an insult to the dignity of my person! This time I'm completely innocent!'

'Oh…' rejoined Elisif, this time with a way more calm tone. There was a shy smile on her lips. 'I'm afraid I may have overreacted. Please, I've already forgotten whatever it was he said to me. I'm sure he's learned his lesson. Let's try to enjoy ourselves.'

Ondolemar sighed with disdain as he looked at the scene. Humans… They get angry for nothing, and then they realize their mistakes when the harm is already partially done. Now they seemed to reconcile, but if that had been something more they would be with their neck deep in the dirt.

'Absolutely not!' cried the drunk. 'I protest… That is, yes, of course. I still don't understand what just… Never mind.'

The calm returned, and silence gripped the air for a moment. After that a shy laugh escaped Elisif's mouth, and that magically restored the peace. The discussions started again, and the guests began doing what they were doing again.

'Malborn!' called out Elenwen. 'More wine, we need to… Malborn? Malborn!'

Ondolemar glanced at the counter. The Bosmer was no longer there. The Justiciar looked around, counting the guests, and looking for someone in particular. Someone that did not seem to be in the room with them, even after he looked at all the faces there a couple times.

'Where is that Wood Elf?' cried Elenwen. 'Soldiers, seek him. He is to be caught and brought to me!'

In that precise moment the door opened and Malborn walked into the room, holding a case full on uncorked bottles. Seeing the entirety of the guests looking at him, he smiled faintly and very nervously. Ondolemar looked, but could not quite get if that tension was born of having a part in the disappearance of the Dunmer or just because nine people were staring at him.

'What… can I do for you?' the Bosmer asked.

'Soldiers, get him!'

The Wood Elf dropped the case. The bottles crashed on the ground and the red wine flowed out of them, drenching his feet and coloring the soldier's boot of red.

'What… What is happening?' cried the Bosmer. 'I… I just went to fetch more wine, just like I asked you, Ambassador!'

'Silence! Whatever you have done while we weren't looking we'll know… What is it, Ondolemar?

The Justiciar had put a hand on her colleague's shoulder, a strange look in his amber eyes.

'Elenwen, the Bosmer in harmless. What should worry you is the Dark Elf missing.'

The Bosmer swallowed, and the Justiciar smiled cruelly.

'Ah, you had a hand in that. Good, follow us. Elenwen, gather the guards. We have ourselves a Dunmer to catch.'

* * *

 _A hallway… Fine. The stairs lead up, that door on the right and that on the left._ though the Assassin. _Just stones and no rich ornament. I'm surprised. Wait… What's that?_

Two Altmer talking.

'Did you see those robes march in this morning? Who're they with? More of the Emissary's treaty enforcers?'

'No. They're high mages, just in from Alinor. I guess Herself is finally getting worried about all the Dragon attacks.'

'Good. I've been wondering how we were supposed to defend this place from a Dragon.'

'If a Dragon does show up, maybe we'll get lucky and it will eat the mages first. Might give us enough time to kill it.'

'Yeah, I'd like to see those arrogant bastards taken down a notch. Always looking down their noses at us lowly footsloggers.'

The two laughed malevolently, and Azrael heard the noise of glasses being put on a table or a counter. He stood flattened against the wall, listening. That conversation had been quite enlightening, and complicated matters a lot. He peaked in the room and looked the two guards, who exchanged one last comment and then stood up.

 _Standard soldiers do not know how the Dragons got here, and apparently the Thalmor need to defend themselves from them. That should mess up Delphine. The Thalmor don't know one damned thing about their return, they are blundering around in the dark just like we are. Damn. Well… I guess I'll know nothing more until I get to Elenwen's quarters._

He unsheathed the Blade of Woe.

 _Let the blood bath commence._

* * *

'Tsavani, don't play dumb!' screamed Elenwen. 'We know someone passed through here, maybe even accompanied by Malborn.'

'No.'

'Drop the act,' hissed the Ambassador. 'If I don't get an explanation right now I'll sent you to the Solar, and there you'll spit the truth.'

'Well… I mean…' mumbled the cat. 'Malborn did bring someone here. An ill guest.'

'Is that so?' asked Elenwen, looking mockingly at the Bosmer. 'You brought a guests feeling ill in the kitchen? And where did that guest go?'

'I don't know, Ambassador.'

'You know!' she screamed. 'He's trying to infiltrate the Embassy, and you had a hand in it!'

'Bringing someone in here is against the rules, in the first place,' intervened Tsavani.

'Is it about permission, Madame?' asked Malborn. The feeling he was about to suffer a fate worse than death made him bolder than he had expected. Even cruel. In his last moments he wanted to take every revenge he could. 'Open the cupboard on the left. Then we'll talk about permission.'

Elenwen gave a burning glare at the Bosmer, and then looked back at Ondolemar and the two soldiers with him. She pointed them at the cupboard, and they went towards it without batting an eye. Malborn looked with a satisfied jeer the face of the Tsavani becoming paler and paler. She looked at him.

'But I told…' she cried.

'You promised me to keep your mouth shut,' interrupted Malborn, 'and you didn't. Now it's my turn, isn't it?'

'What is in there, Ondolemar?' asked Elenwen, ignoring the two arguing.

'Moon sugar,' answered the High Elf, coolly. 'Your servants are truly trustworthy, Ambassador. One of them a traitor and a spy and the other a drug consumer or dealer.'

'I would suggest you to stop mocking your superior,' Elenwen threatened him. 'Soldiers, bring the door down. We need to advance in the next room. And you, Tsavani… You'll end up in bars with the Bosmer; when we'll be done with you you'll be both executed. Grab her.'

Two soldiers tied the hands of the Khajiit and made her stand up. She hissed, keeping her head down and throwing murderous glares at Malborn, who could not remove that irritating smirk from his lips. There was something mad about it, something not completely for the sane of mind, but it was all that kept him from complete desperation in that instant. Meanwhile Ondolemar went to the door, helping the two soldiers that were trying to break through it.

'We need a wizard or an axe! This is of no use,' said one of the soldiers.

'Make way,' said one of the guards, dressed in Thalmor robes.

The two soldiers stood aside, as the robed Altmer raised his left hand. A small flame sparkled in his hand, and then he released the firebolt at the wooden door. The wood cracked and bent, carbonized, while the two soldiers stepped forth and kicked the door, slamming it open. There was no one in the room, but there was a lot of cupboards and shelves full with food and drinks. On the other side of the small room there was an opened chest, completely empty. No one seemed to notice it, though.

A soldier walked up to the other door and tried to open it.

'It's unlocked.'

Malborn bit his lip. He should have locked that one as well. But he kept calm. He trusted his ally.

'Scatter,' said Ondolemar. 'Search every inch of this place. None must escape. Elenwen, call the guards that are in this place. We might need their help.'

'Saurilelion!' called out the Ambassador.

The soldier went forwards. Meanwhile, no answer answered. Ondolemar and Elenwen exchanged glances.

'Saurilelion! We need…!'

'Madame Ambassador!' cried a soldier, interrupting her. 'Come here! The watches have been slain!'

Like everywhere Azrael passed, he left a mark on the land he stepped on. Despair followed him. He transformed every place he wanted into a living, breathing nightmare.

The world is shaped by our perception. We see and live in a place that is heavily influenced by how we feel. If we feel fearful, frightened or just under pressure, the world becomes a terrifying place. Some things make even the most stern of people tense, some that shake even the cool ones to their very core. The Assassin's mark, which is the signature of Fate and the handprint of death, breaks through the unbreakable.

The Thalmor found little to no evidence of his passage at first. Well… except for three dead guys. The rooms looked intact, but as soon as they took a closer look they found little things missing. The soul gem that should have been on the shelf was no longer there, the bottle on the opposite side of the room had disappeared, the bundle of tundra cotton missing… Little things of that such. It really looked like a ghost had come through there, taking what he needed with him and leaving everything he did not need and taking the life of everyone that stood in his way.

The two soldiers had been killed stealthily, one suffocated and thrown in a dark corner and the other with its throat cut and lying in plain sight in a crimson pool. The wizard that stood guard upstairs who Elenwen had called, Saurilelion, lied of the floor with a thin and deep cut in between the shoulders, right in the spine. The vertebrae had been incised and broken, and the Altmer's face showed no pain, just calm. He died before he could realize that his life was about to end.

That was the way of Azrael.


	7. Ill-informed foes

Azrael slowly closed the door behind him, grabbed the dagger he picked up from the last corpse and jerked the lock. In case someone was pursuing him, they would have needed some time to open that door. Technically speaking this was also his only way out, but it would have been easier for him to open it from the inside. Besides, if someone was actually chasing him they would have to open the door themselves, and once they were all slaughtered he could have used the door without any problem.

The Assassin immediately flattened against the wall, noticing a Thalmor guard in full elven armor ahead of him. The room had numerous columns and a balcony overhead, although there was no one guarding that. They clearly were not expecting anyone. The guard was in fact waiting for someone, and casting short glances at the door to the left. Azrael moved slowly and looked in there. There was a Thalmor, dressed in their hooded robe, and a man, a Breton judging by the accent, talking to him. Or rather complaining to him.

'But, I need that money! I earned it. I have my own expenses you know…'

'Silence!' ordered the Thalmor. 'Do not presume, Gissur. You are most useful, but do not presume. We have other informants who are less… offensive.'

'But no one else has brought you such valuable information, have they? Etienne, he's talked, hasn't he? He knows where that old man is you're looking for, he told me himself.'

 _Fine…_ thought Azrael, moving behind the column and getting closer. _Some fella named Etienne and a certain old man… They're not Dragons, but it might be interesting._

'You'll get the rest of your money when we confirm his story. As agreed,' said the Thalmor.

'So he has talked! I knew it!' cried the Breton.

'Everyone talks, in the end,' replied the Altmer. His presuming tone made it sound like the aphorism of the century. 'Now, I have work to do. Leave me to it, if you ever want to see the rest of your payment.'

'Can I… I could help you. He'd talk to me. He trusts me.'

'You'd like to come downstairs with me, is that it, Gissur? Shall we loose his bonds and put you in a cell together? You can ask him anything you like, and see how he answers.'

 _Downstairs…_ thought the Assassin. _Downstairs there will be something that is of great value. I need to get there somehow. They talk about it like it's a very important and secret place. Well… Time to uncover what Elenwen keeps in this building of hers. Let's see how this human responds._

'No, no. I'll… I'll wait outside,' had replied Gissur in the meantime.

'That would probably be best,' said the Thalmor. 'Now get out!'

 _Damn…_

Footsteps. Gissur was walking out of the small room, probably trying to get out of the building. He could not. If he only set foot outside, which he couldn't because of the broken door, he would have laid eyes upon an empty courtyard. A courtyard which was supposed to be patrolled day and night. That is, if he didn't look for long. If he did, he would have found the corpses hidden in the bushes or behind the small stone walls. Azrael needed a plan, and he had one that just could work.

The Breton walked right behind him, and the guard kept looking at his left, at the door. The footsteps came from one person only, so the Thalmor had not yet moved from his seat. Gissur walked right behind the column where Azrael was hiding, and did not notice the slim end of a black cloak behind it. The Breton felt insulted, used and mistreated. He had done everything he could for those Elves, and now they told him to keep waiting. He was furious.

Rage is often blind, and blinds the person affected by it. Without he could notice, a strong arm gripped his neck and a gloved hand was put on his mouth and nose. He could not breathe, call for help now escape that strong grasp. Azrael's muscles trembled in the effort, but after just a couple of seconds Gissur fainted and he died a second later. Fear had gotten to him, ironically reducing the time which his reserves of breath would have lasted. He died terrified, without even knowing what killed him.

Azrael put the corpse down, hidden under the pillar, and then rolled past the column. He needed to disappear for a while, in case someone noticed the man missing. He decided to take a walk upstairs, and see what was there, while remaining in a range in which he could overheard anything.

The Thalmor in the robe finally stopped writing down and stood up from his chair. The ink was still fresh of the piece of paper he had just written. Last things on the investigation, and the pressure of Gissur in having his reward. He only needed to report, his superiors would have taken the right choice about what to do with him. He walked out, and looked at the soldier.

'Anything suspicious?' he asked.

'Nothing, commander,' replied the guards . 'All seemed to be quiet. No one came to report anything or say anything.'

'If Elenwen had problems at the party, we'd know. But she's got protection there, and so there is in the courtyard. Besides, no one is actively hunting us and no one knows about the investigation we've been conducting.'

'And even if it happened, we would have dispatched that individual some time ago.'

'Well said. Stay on guard, I'm going downstairs and try to get something more from the prisoner.'

The Thalmor walked towards the staircase, which led down. The soldier looked at him, and as soon as he disappeared he returned looking left, at the room where the talking took place. He had stayed there for hours, since that morning, and nothing had happened. All seemed perfectly calm and secure, he himself felt out of danger. He had just started wondering why he hadn't heard the door opening when Gissur got out.

Then a dagger got thrust into his temple.

Azrael had noticed, back in the party room, that the elven armor the soldier wore had the necessary space to make their elven ears fit, but left a dangerously large gap. A gap large enough for a thin dagger. The Blade of Woe got through scratching the moonstone, and cut easily through the flesh of the Altmer. By the time the blade reached the brain, the soldier was already unconscious. He died shortly after. Nothing could have saved him. He did even had the time to cry or call for help.

Azrael dropped down the body and went ahead. He had heard the sound of a door closing, which meant the Thalmor was no longer in the room. Walking slowly, stopping at every corner and staying out of any kind of light source, he pressed forward into the rear of the room. He looked briefly around. There was a chest on his left.

 _Documents…_ he realized, opening it. _Let's see… A key, two books and a piece of paper. Wait… "Dragon Investigation: Current Status"… Ah, the enemy is blundering in the dark as much as we are. Quite ill-informed indeed._

The Assassin looked at the two books. He narrowed his eyes while reading the two names on the cover. He wasn't surprised by their existence, but definitely of having found them. They, in fact, were information regarding Ulfric Stormcloak and Delphine herself.

 _Well, well… Lady Doubt was almost right about how much the Thalmor are on her tracks._

Azrael made the two books fit in his pockets and then quickly read the note.

 _Dragon Investigation: Current Status_

 _by Rulindil_

 _A Thalmor report on the return of Dragons_

 _First Emissary Elenwen,_

 _We anticipate a breakthrough in our efforts to uncover the party or power behind the Dragon resurrection phenomenon.  
_ _An informant has identified a possible lead, whom we have brought back to the Embassy for a full interrogation.  
The subject is obstinate, __but by all indications is holding back the information we seek. I have authorized Intermediate Manual Uncoiling:  
I do not expect more will be necessary, unless you feel time presses.  
_ _I know you prefer to be present for the final questioning; I will inform you immediately when the subject is fully receptive. Two days should tell the tale.  
_ _In the meantime, if you wish to audit our technique, your expertise is welcome, as always.  
_ _I have placed the prisoner in the cell closest to your office stairs, for your convenience._

 _Rulindil, 3rd Em._

The Assassin sighed, and sneered. He put the scrap back in his pocket with the two books and went downstairs. He knew a lot just from that little update, that probably had yet to be delivered. Firstly, he knew that the name of the Thalmor he had seen was Rulindil. Secondly, the Thalmor knew the Dragons were resurrecting, and apparently they had someone who in turn could locate someone else. That is what he could infer from the mixed information of that sheet and the conversation he overheard. Apparently they were torturing this poor man that they captured, and he was not their ultimate objective even. Moreover, if Rulindil said that the prisoner had talked beforehand, that note had to be al least three days old. Quite strange that it had not been delivered yet.

 _So, let us find this unfortunate Etienne._ thought the Dunmer. _And hopefully resolve this mess._

The Assassin arrived at the door. The further he went down, the more the place felt uncomfortable. There was no furniture, the floor was dirty and spider webs filled the corners. That place was quite different from the room in the Embassy, and immediately stirred a strange sense of awareness in the Dunmer. That sudden change in the environment was not something welcome.

He opened the door, and the change of atmosphere was even more dramatic. He shut the door, without making too much noise, and looked around. He was on a kind of overhead corridor, and almost all of the light sources came from below him. The stench of humid and still air was disgusting, and the strong scent of blood was even more perceivable. Leaning against a pillar, the Assassin looked down. There were cells, wheels, torture tools. Blood on the ground.

Azrael heard some footsteps, and flattened on the ground. It was the best place to hide, and the black cloak helped him stay in the shadow. He waited, motionlessly, with his head bent and looking at the rear of the prison. The footsteps belonged to two people, one armored and the other not. The first figure to appear was the one of the armored individual, a guard in full elven armor like any other in that place. Azrael looked quickly at the strange shape of the cuirass and of the greaves.

 _What in the world…? Damn it, there's nothing strange. It's a she._

The soldier was in fact female. She took a key from her a satchel hanging from her belt and opened the door of the first cell, which was occupied by a man. A Breton, judging by the height at the complexion. He was tied by the wrists and kneeling on the ground. He didn't move, even the Assassin hadn't noticed him. It was quite difficult nonetheless, since the man was at a different height and the side of the cell was covered by steel bars.

The she-Alter walked in, and gave a punch to the prisoner.

'Stop. Please,' lamented the man. 'I don't know anything else. Don't you think I'd have told you already?'

'Silence,' said the soldier, 'you know the rules. Do not speak unless spoken to. Master Rulindil will ask the questions.'

Rulindil appeared while she was still talking. He was the other person in there, since now that the soldier had stopped only his footsteps kept echoing. Azrael looked at him, fearing that he might have turned his gaze and looked up. Even if he did, he would not have seen a lot, but every risk had to be calculated. Thing is, the Altmer did not even bother. He looked the prisoner while walking and then sat in a chair behind a desk with some paper rolls and ink, with his back towards the Assassin.

 _Look at that…_ smiled Azrael. _He wants to get new information so hard that he even prepared the paper and the ink to write them. That's some serious planning, the truest evidence of paranoia. Well, I can't do much right now, if I kill one the other would notice me immediately. I think I'll wait._

'Let's begin again,' declared Rulindil, officially opening the torture sequence.

'No… for pity's sake… I've already told you everything…' groaned the Breton.

'You know the rules,' replied the Altmer.

'No!' screamed the Breton.

The soldier in front of him gave him a strong punch in the ribs. Azrael heard the faint breathing of that man from where he was, and shook his head. Well, as much as he could, given he was on the ground. With a bit of luck, that man was at his last interrogation ever, whoever he was. Breton or not, he was someone that could not have deserved that. If he could, the Assassin would have saved him. Ironic maybe, but sometimes death is a savior. When it's not coming for you, obviously.

'Start at the beginning, as usual,' said Rulindil, as soon as the Breton recovered his breath. 'If you persist in this stubbornness I'll have…'

'No, wait!' the man cried, cutting the Altmer off. 'I was just… catching my breath… why wouldn't I tell you again? I don't even know anything… Look, there's this old man. He lives in Riften. He could be this Esbern you're looking for, but I don't know. He's old and seemed kind of crazy. That's all I know.'

 _So, they're searching for a certain Esbern. Should tell this to Delphine once I'm done._

'And his name is?' asked the Thalmor, after writing something down of the paper.

'I don't know his name. Like I've told you a hundred…'

Another strong punch hit him, this time in the chin. He coughed, then spit, then cried.

'You know the rules,' commented Rulindil. 'Just answer the questions. Where we can find this nameless old man?'

'Like I said, I don't know! I've seen him down in the Ratway. Maybe he lives down there, but I don't know for sure.'

 _The Ratway…_ thought the Assassin. _Sounds like a marvelous place by the name alone. Yeah, I've even been down there once. When I talked to Delvin. This is turning out to be quite the tale, isn't it? May not have learned much about the Dragons, but I'm definitely not returning to Delphine empty handed._

'That will be all for now,' said the Thalmor, stranding up. 'I must say I continue to be disappointed in your lack of cooperation. I hope next time you will do better.'

'What else do you want from me? I've already told you everything. Listen, if you let me go I can take you to Riften, show you where…'

'Silence, prisoner!'

 _Nice try…_

And yet another punch. That solder had done nothing but pummeling down on him. The Breton lost consciousness, or so Azrael thought when he heard no more agonizing moans coming out of his mouth. The Assassin began crawling forward, careful not be seen by the she-Altmer. The soldier had left the Breton alone, and she closed his door again. Rulindil was writing down on the roll of paper, concentrated.

'Is it all, commander?' asked the guard.

'For now, yes,' answered the Thalmor, without even raising his head. The soldier went to the wall behind him, listening to him. 'We'll have to continue until he gives us more information on this Esbern, when…'

The Assassin really wanted to heard that whole conversation, but he did not have the time to. The perfect occasion had presented itself, with the soldier standing right below him and the Thalmor sitting in the chair and absorbed by his writings. It would have taken him a few seconds to even stand, and even more to react to the threat. There was no way they could be expecting that.

Silent as smoke, the Assassin jumped over the wooden fence and dropped down.

His feet landed on the shoulders on the she-Altmer, making her lose her balance big time. She screamed, in vain. She could not go back, since she was leaning against the wall, and so she fell forward, bringing Azrael forward with her. The Assassin used the movement and gave strength of his own, making a pirouette mid air and stabbing the Elf right in the heart. He quickly recovered and used the energy of the fall to roll onward. He ended the roll by jumping right on his feet, and before Rulindil could let go of his quill his eyes got covered and his head held still by a gloved hand. Moments later a blade slashed his throat.

Now, and only now, the dead she-Altmer fell to the ground, while the first blood drops flowed out of Rulindil's neck. Beneath the soldier's corpse a blood poll formed. The red substance filled the holes in the wooden floor and kept expanding. Likewise happened to the Thalmor she used to take orders from, the robe of which was drenched in red.

'Be seeing you…' said the Assassin, in a terrifying and glacial whisper.

No more footsteps, no more voices. Only perfect stillness and utter silence. The gift and the curse that the Assassin left behind. Silence. The sweetest music, the anthem and the requiem of power.

Azrael walked to the cell, cut the lock with the Blade of Woe and approached the prisoner.

'Wake up,' he whispered.

No answer.

The gloved hand of the Assassin went to the chest of the man, and pressed. A warm light came out of his palm, a light that was slowly recomposing the shattered bones and the wounded flesh.

'Ah… What?' asked the Breton. 'I told you… I don't know anything else about it.'

'I'm not here to torture you.'

'What?' he asked, more frightened than relieved. 'And… And the Elves?'

'Dead.'

'Oh… And who… What do you want then?'

'No time to explain. Come on,' said the Assassin, cutting off the bindings and holding him by the armpits. 'Let's get out of here.'

'Yeah…' murmured the Breton. 'Sure. There's a trap door that way. I've seen the guards use it to get rid of the bodies. It must lead somewhere.'

'Eat this,' said the Assassin handing him a small sweet he took from the party. 'You'll need some strength. Meanwhile…' he continued, getting out of the cell and going towards the desk at which sat the corpse of Rulindil. 'Tell me what you're doing here.'

'They grabbed me in the Ratway, the nerve of these bastards…' mumbled the Breton, eating the sweet quickly and watching the hooded figure searching the papers. 'I'm glad you've taught them a lesson.'

'Listen… Etienne, is that?'

The Breton froze.

'How do you know my name?'

'Overheard it. Is there anything I can take as proof from here?'

'I think that the one doing the questions wrote something, maybe a book. It's got to be in that chest over there…' he said, and the figure opened it. He was quite a grim character, but by the voice it was easy to understand that he was a Dark Elf, even if it was strangely deep. He was certainly taller than an average one, that's for sure. 'It should be…'

'Found it.' said the Dunmer, grabbing a small book.

'Perfect, now…'

Etienne stopped suddenly, as he looked at the Dunmer turning towards the door upstairs and jumping back at the wall. The Breton looked up, and saw that the door was being shaken violently. Fear gripped him, and he looked at the Dark Elf, hoping he had some instruction. The grim figure winked and threw a key in his direction, the one that was in the satchel of the she-Altmer. Etienne understood the plans of his savior immediately, and instantly ran to the cell next to his. He looked back at the Dunmer, who nod slowly in confirmation.

The door got tore through by a spell. The crash awaked the prisoner in the cell.

'What…' asked the woman in the cell he opened.

'Quiet,' Etienne said. 'We're getting out of here.'

Two guards in full elven armor walked up to the fence of the overhead balcony. Etienne noticed the Dunmer looking up at them, and slowly creeping towards the stairs while staying as close to the wall as much as he could. The Breton himself did not move, so that the three could not see anything. They were two soldiers and another individual, a Bosmer, with his hands tied.

'Listen up, spy!' said the soldier. 'You're trapped in here, and we have your accomplice. Surrender immediately or you both die.'

'Nevermind. I'm dead already…' mumbled the Bosmer, but he got cut off.

'Silence, traitor! Move. Slowly.'

The Dunmer gestured Etienne, and he punched the bar of the prison weakly. From it came only a hushed clang. The two Thalmor soldiers immediately looked down, and Etienne realized that the Dark Elf had been a lot more intelligent than he had been. The Breton had calculated that the two soldiers would have come down and maybe not noticed the Dunmer, but the corpses of Rulindil and his assistant were still on the lying where they died, drenched in blood. The sight of their dead superior scared the Altmer, and Etienne understood that fear, not simple distraction, was what that dire-looking Dark Elf needed.

'So, you killed our commander?' cried one of the Elves. 'Do you think that makes you a hero?'

Etienne looked at where the Dunmer was, curious to observe his reaction, but when he gazed at where the Dark Elf was he was no longer there.

'It's useless for you stick to the shade! We'll find you sooner or later!'

The two moved down the stairs, escorting the prisoner, who looked around with a worried expression. Etienne held tight, and when the prisoner he freed looked at him he just put a finger on his mouth, telling her to stay silent. He had seen the Dunmer for no longer than two minutes, but he somehow knew he was about to act.

'Enough games, murderer! Come out and fight!'

Etienne froze on the spot with fear when a dark boot made of leather and thin plates of metal came out of the shadow and tripped the soldier on the rear. He fell to the ground, and a moment later a blade swooped down and severed his head with unreal precision. The other guard tried to react, but the Bosmer jumped in front of him and blocked him in his tracks. A dark shadow moved around the Altmer, who bent to his side a moment later. The blade of the Dunmer was dripping red, and the side of the High Elf had been slashed deeply. With a last slice, the Dark Elf planted the dagger in the other side of the enemy and stabbed through the ribcage.

'Uh… Enough blood!' screamed the Wood Elf.

'It's not that much,' said the Dunmer, glacial. 'Are you all right?'

'Let's get out of here, for pity's sake!' was the response of the Bosmer.

'Tranquil as ever…' sneered the Assassin. 'Come on, guys and girls. Let's get out of this hellish place.'


	8. More than allies

'Malborn…'

The horse and its rider spirited past the Blade, and Delphine heard some curses coming from the horseman. She backed off, looking around, but saw no one. It was dusk already, and she did not expect Malborn to be there, but it sure looked like him. What was he doing there anyway? And why had he come from that direction? There were a lot of questions she could not answer. She kept looking at the shadows. She feared that the Thalmor might have been on his trail, but if that was the case… The Dragonborn might have been dead. Or worse, captured.

Her doubts got finally alleviated by the typical, glacial and sarcastic voice of the Assassin.

'Malborn! Come back, you shivering dishonor of Valenwood…! Curses, by the Soul of the Black Knight, a thousand curses on you…'

Delphine had troubles seeing him at first, but when he walked in the torchlight she immediately recognized him. His face was covered again, with the hood shadowing his forehead and hair and the mask hiding his nose and mouth; and, since it went up to the ears, hid even the long scar. The Blade had, again, troubles attributing the face he saw to the face hidden behind that mask and that hood. Nevertheless, she was happy to see him alive and in a good mood.

'So?' she asked, impatient.

'I'll tell you on the way,' said the Assassin, gesturing her to follow.

Azrael whistled at the copse near the rocks, and Delphine saw the red eyes of Shadowmere coming closer in the dim light. The noise made by her hooves was quite muffled for an animal, or a creature, of that size. The Assassin ran towards her, grabbed her neck on the run and jumped on her back. Delphine sprinted quickly in his direction, grabbing his hand and mounting the beast herself. The Dragonborn slapped the horse on the neck and gripped her hair. Delphine held tighter. Shadowmere reared up and neighed loudly, as she often did, and then began galloping at her usual astounding speed.

Delphine heaved a deep sigh and grabbed the waist of the Elf with one hand while she tried to take her own hair away from her face. Once she managed, she grabbed a shoulder of the Dunmer with the free hand.

'Did you run into any obstacles?' she asked.

'Malborn risked his neck,' he answered, 'but the Thalmor played too bold and allowed me to save him. Other than that no, no major issues along the way. Our Bosmer asked me to start a distraction to slip away, and it just so happened an acquaintance of mine was there to help me. I got past the guards problem free, for me, clearly, and then got the information and ran.'

'Why did you come from that direction?'

'We used a secret passage into a cave. The Thalmor used it to hide corpses, and there was a Snow Troll below who fed on the poor sods they killed. The Troll rests peacefully although with a few scorches, and we got out. Malborn found that horse near the stables unguarded and grabbed it without thinking twice.'

'Did he play along or did you give he troubles?'

'No, he did alright. Sufficiently subtle while discussing with me back in part room, kind of calm when they captured him… I don't know how he did when he was alone, but since the guards took so long to get to me I presume he did a good job. Won't be able to ask him, but that's fine.'

'And in the party room?'

'All good. We surpassed the infamous Thalmor Justiciar Staring Menacingly At You test, so I guess we put on a good show. The true show was the one I did in the corridors, a bloody and serious one.'

'You're talking about the guards?'

'They dropped like flies. You'll be happy to know that it was quite the blood bath inside, and only Altmer blood has been spilled.'

'That is something,' admitted the Blade. 'And about the Dragons?'

'They know nothing more than we do.'

'Really?' she asked, having a hard time believing him. Even his glacial and deadly serious tone hadn't been enough to convince her. 'That seems hard to believe. You're sure about that?'

Azrael rummaged around in his bandoliers for a while, and then took out a small but decorated sheet of paper. He handed it to the Blade without losing sight of the road. They were approaching Dragon's Bridge, and he needed to find an alternative way around. Meanwhile, the Blade read the scarp without believing her own eyes. They were information about the status about the Dragon Investigation, and it was leading nowhere even for them.

'Who's this old man they're looking for?' asked Delphine.

'Yes, about that…' sneered the Assassin. 'All your talks about you being the last member of the Blades and such… The Thalmor are looking for some fella who is apparently a living member of the Blades. Name's Esbern.'

'Esbern?' she exclaimed. 'He's alive? I thought the Thalmor must have got him years ago. That crazy old man… Figured the Thalmor would be on his trail, though, if they were trying to find out what's going on with the Dragons.'

'So, you thought the Thalmor knew all and they though the Blades knew all…'

'Ironic, isn't it? The old enemies assume that every calamity must be a plot by the other side.'

'And who is this guy? The information I gathered tells he is a loremaster.'

'He knew everything about the ancient Dragonlore of the Blades. Obsessed with it, really. Nobody paid much attention back then. I guess he wasn't as crazy as we all thought, and that means we need to find him quickly. He'll know how to stop the Dragons if anybody does. Do they know where he is?'

'Riften. Ratway.'

'You'd better get there, then. Oh, and when you find Esbern… If you think I'm paranoid, you may have some trouble getting him to trust you. Just ask him where he was on the 30th of Frostfall. He'll know what it means. Talk to Brynjolf. He's… well-connected. A good starting point at least.'

'No, not him…' whispered the Assassin.

'Why?'

Azrael looked back at the Blade sitting behind him on the back of Shadowmere. Delphine noticed a strange glow in his red eyes, a sad and ironic spark that showed at once the weight that Elf carried on his shoulders. Secrets, sins… He looked invincible and unbreakable, but he was far from perfect. At the very core of his being he was tranquil, but on the middle-ground between that and the outside that was far from the truth. The Assassin thought long, but then decided to combat mistrust with trust. Just for once, he had to trust someone normal. He only other person that he considered worthy was Babette, and she was far from normal. Delphine, although she had seen it all, was still deeply human.

'Long story…' sighed Azrael. 'Do you want to know the dark past of your Dragonborn? The true one?'

'Well… Knowledge is power.'

'And this once, use it carefully,' the Assassin warned her. His voice had been cold, but there was a threatening undertone that echoed with the entire force of his being, from the Dragon to the Elf. 'And, if you ever wandered where I learned to be a killer, you'll have your answer. You could probably keep track of me as long as I remained with the Companions, but then my trace begins to… shimmer. Doesn't it?'

'It does. I had troubles discovering what you did after.'

'Well… Prepare yourself. I had some issues with Brynjolf because I traveled to Riften three times, visiting a contact, on account of the Dark Brotherhood.'

One big weight seemed to drop off his shoulders. He suddenly felt lighter, and sighed deeply with relief. But after that, his lips shaped again the sarcastic sneer, as he waited for Delphine's response. He had no intention of keeping talking and spoiling his own fun.

'Why did you do that?' asked Delphine. Azrael almost got disappointed: her voice was cool.

'Momentary decisions and a strong sense of being lost. Thanks to them, and people I encountered while with them, I am what you see now.'

'So, if the rumors are true… Who of you killed the Emperor?'

Delphine froze solid on the saddle when she heard the glacial and sardonic laughter of the Dragonborn.

'Titus had arrived to the end of his days,' he said. 'He just wanted to understand what our encounter was about, and then he wanted to live no more. He asked me to kill him. But, and this time don't put your icy mistrust walls around you, if he asked me I would have probably spared him. But, in the end, we had a meeting with Fate. And Fate in inescapable.'

Shadowmere turned quickly and traversed the Dragon Bridge very rapidly. One guard only had the time to scream that someone had dashed past. As soon as they reached the other end of the Bridge the horse turned left, avoiding the other part of the small village. They would have returned to the main road in a few minutes.

'You took a risk telling me this,' commented Delphine, after a while. This time Azrael nodded slowly, noticing that her voice was no longer completely cool. 'From what you know of me, I could have turned on you and stabbed you in the back.'

'No, you wouldn't have. You are a Blade. You obtain your goals with every means necessary. Your only duty is to protect the Dragonborn, not the Emperor. And duty is the only destiny you know.'

'You are quite smart, I'll give you that. You manage to exploit emotions and use people's thoughts against them without even hurting them. You've got a sharp mind. And I'm saying this as a true compliment; I haven't said one in decades.'

'Thank you,' replied the Assassin. His voice was emotionless, but there was no sarcasm in his tone.

* * *

'What…?'

Delphine sensed a branch grazing her hair, and she instinctively lowered her head. Her sight was unclear, but it was rather obvious that they were in a forest. The outlines of the trees were quite recognizable, and the rays of moonlight came fragmented by the foliage. The Blade raised her head, seeing the Dragonborn in front of him.

'Where are we?'

'Past Falkreath. We're near Riverwood,' he replied.

'What happened?'

'You fell asleep, Lady Doubt. You've been slumbering since we crossed the border to the Reach.'

'You should have waked me.'

'Why? To save your pride?' said the Elf, his mocking wit very much awake. 'You were sleeping so peacefully. It would have been a crime to wake you.'

'When will you sleep?'

'Since we should be at Riverwood before dawn I'd like to take a nap at the inn. If you don't mind.'

'I don't. You can stay there as long as you will.'

Shadowmere turned left. Delphine recognized now the road that led from Falkreath to Riverwood, and they were almost the slope that led to Helgen. Azrael was clearly avoiding the city, and smart thing he did, for there was no one but bandits in that burned down ruin. They were instead crossing the forest and getting to the road that went along Lake Illnalta.

'Back when I came to you before going in the Embassy…' said Azrael, pausing for a moment and letting her remember. 'You said you imagined me different, behind the mask. What did you expect?'

'I don't know. Maybe someone a little more typical in appearance. Someone less recognizable by the face alone. Even in a crowd of Dark Elves you'd be easily recognizable, if anything by your height. By the way, how did you get that scar on the cheek?'

'Escaping Morrowind. Morag Tong assassins left me that as a reminder.'

'A reminder of what?'

'That you can't hold something too dear if you don't have the strength to protect it.'

That cryptic phrase left Delphine wondering, but she preferred to reason on the enigma hidden in the sentence than ask him what he meant. He would not have said it straight, or he would have done that immediately after. Azrael was not one who held things back. If there was a truth to be said, it would have been said. No matter the cost. His failing in mentioning what exactly he had kept dear was a clear sign of his uncertainty about the matter. She did not inquire any further, and changed the subject.

'I was also surprised by how you can hide your hair in the hood. They are a long.'

'I had troubles with some helmets and cowls,' said Azrael, back to his cold tone. 'With this one I manage to keep them inside. They are black as coal, so it's not hard to hide them. Sometimes, especially when I jump or roll multiple times, some locks fell on my chest. That's not too annoying, anyway.'

'Your beard also surprised me. Usually it's your priests that keep them long, and I totally took you for one when you walked up to me in that black tunic.'

'True,' admitted the Assassin. 'Most of us keep it short or shaven.'

Shadowmere turned again, and took the main rode beside the lake. They should have been home in a few minutes. Now that she needed again to stay quiet and rely on Azrael to complete a task, her tension was raising again a bit. But not as much as before. She now trusted the Assassin, in her own suspicious way. Nevertheless, she could not deny that Azrael had become something more than the Dragonborn to her. He had quickly become a comrade, and after that short revelations about his past she could have called him a friend, even. She almost didn't dare to say that word. She, always in her own way, cared for him, much beyond the point duty can require.

'Listen…' she began. 'About that thing with Brynjolf. Am I sending you into a difficult situation?'

'It might take some time, but I'm quite confident I'll manage. I've just got to resolve some old matters, and hopefully all will be fine.'

'Be careful with Brynjolf. He has the back-up of the Thieves Guild.'

'Figures… Well, that rabble of robbers doesn't scare me one bit. If they try to get it their way, I'll make sure to teach them mine.'

'Your way isn't always the right one, Assassin,' said Delphine. 'Not all matters can be resolved with the help of a blade. Eradicating the very roots of a threat isn't always the right thing to do, for sometimes those roots need to submit and not to succumb.'

'We've got a philosopher. Great…'

'Look who's talking. One that has bored me with his lectures on how I cannot understand things you can and such.'

'It wasn't that boring.'

'Maybe it wasn't. Anyway, don't lower your guard with the Guild. They've got more means that your can think. They don't kill. They never do. When you'll walk into their den, you'll have to play their game, and that is not a game about killing. It's a game about blackmail, extortion, bribery and intimidation. In any case, do not challenge them. I need you.'

'Don't worry, Lady Doubt. I'll manage.'

'You will, but you know why?'

'No, but I suppose you're about to tell me.'

'Because you're a quick learner.'


	9. Dangerous Characters

'Hey, Fiann, look at that shady fella over there.'

'Is he…? Mate, go to Brynjolf, quickly. If you find Maul on the way, tell him that the Murderer is coming.'

'The Murderer? What's that all about?'

'Ysmir's beard, you have to be explained all. Just move already, and don't let him see you.'

The man ran into the city. His two friends quickly closed the gate behind him, already feeling a penetrating gaze on their faces. They turned towards the grim figure coming their way, walking at a strong pace and glancing around. It was quite clear that he was keeping an eye open for trouble, and if he was the person Fiann thought he was, he should have.

When he got near the gate he casted a glacial glare at the two guards.

'Open the gate. I want to get into the city,' he said. His voice was cold, his tone definitive.

'Whoa there,' replied the guard. 'Before I let you into Riften, you'll have to pay the visitor's tax.'

'A tax? What for?' he asked back.

'For the privilege of entering the city. What does it matter?'

The figure crossed his arms and sighed, giving the soldier a cold glare. He looked first at him, then at the other guard, and then at him once again.

'This is obviously a shakedown. Let me in,' he said.

'Alright, alright, keep your voice down! Want anyone to hear you?' the told him, not able to keep up with the exchange of stares and threats with that cloaked figure anymore. 'I'll let you in, just let me unlock the gate.'

Brynjolf wouldn't have been very happy about that, but he knew that a member of the Thieves Guild doesn't kill, at least. That Elf, however, didn't seem to hold much prejudice towards dispatching of an annoyance the hard way. The blade hanging from his belt and the bow and quiver on his back were sufficient proof of his assumption. Fiann renounced confronting that killer any further, and just opened the gate.

'Gate's unlocked,' he said. 'Go in whenever you want.'

'That's right now,' said the Dunmer, bashing him with his shoulder and making him stagger back. 'And thanks for the chat. It's been entertaining,' he added, with a sardonic undertone that made Fiann bleach with frustration and fear.

Azrael walked in the city, and heard the gate behind him closing. He took a deep breath, and looked around. He had been to Riften one time only, when he came to murder Grelod the Kind. After that he had returned to the city a couple of times to visit Delvin Mallory on Dark Brotherhood business, but had always met him in the sewers, which he accessed from the lake and not from the streets. When he went there to kill Grelod, he had felt like he had attracted too much attention, despite trying to be discreet and to stay hidden. He felt like he was up for a rough adventure, this time around. He knew little about the city.

The street where he was, the one that led to the market, was quite bare. The houses around were simple, the road a bit damaged and it seemed no one had had the time to repair it. Azrael remembered talking to one woman named Mjoll right beside the entrance, on some crates that were there that time. He didn't know where she was now, but she wouldn't have been of much help. If only he told her he had affairs with Brynjolf, she would have probably tried to kill him on the spot.

The Assassin moved his first steps into the city. The poverty was palpable in that place. A bag full of trash, clearly searched for food, laid on the right. A beggar sitting in a dark corner, unsure if he wanted to be seen or not, just e few meters ahead. A dog, abandoned, was looking for food in a nearby junk mound on the right. It probably had a master, who couldn't feed him anymore.

'Hey, you!'

Azrael sighed, and looked at who had called him. Judging from the voice, he was not one with good intent. It was gruff and deep, the Nord accent quite clear. When the Assassin turned around, most of his suspicions got confirmed. The man who spoke had a rough face and an aggressive look. Azrael gave him an ice-cold glare, but that man only swallowed and didn't move a millimeter from where he stood, leaning against a wooden pole. He had a common steel armor, but his muscles said aloud that no ordinary man should have double-crossed him.

'I don't know you. You in Riften looking for trouble?'

The Assassin just shrugged.

'I'm not scared of you,' he replied, glacial.

'That's the wrong answer,' said the man. 'Last thing the Black-Briar need here is some trouble-maker trying to steal a piece of the action.'

'Interesting. Now explain me what you're ranting about.'

'The Black-Briar have Riften in their pocket, and the Thieves Guild watching their back, so keep your nose out of their business.'

'And you? What's it to you?'

'Me? I'm Maul. I watch the streets for 'em. If you need dirt on anything, I'm your guy, but it will cost you.'

Azrael chose to end that hidden fight, and tried to get to a satisfying conclusion. He brought a hand to his dagger and raised an eyebrow in a mocking way. A sudden red blaze flared in his eyes for a moment. Maul felt a cold chill going down his spine. He had clearly come to face the wrong character. It was definitely the one that killed Grelod, and he knew that Brynjolf would have him go this way, but there was nothing more he could do.

'How about you tell me for free? And now.'

'All right, all right, let's not get hasty now,' said the brute, on the defensive this time around. 'What do you want to know?'

'Tell me about these Black-Briars. They seem to be quite the web-spinners in this skeever hole.'

'Well, you got Maven. She pretty much runs the whole operation. She's got friends in high places, if you know what I mean. She's also got ties to the Thieves Guild, as I said, and to the Dark Brotherhood too, so basically no one can touch her. Just remember, if she tells you to do something… Well, you damn well better do exactly what she says.'

'Yeah, I know the type,' Azrael commented. 'And the Thieves Guild? Know anything?'

'You kidding?' he said, smirking cruelly. 'My brother Dirge works in their hideout. I used to run with them myself, but took a job with Maven after they started hitting a rough patch. If you want to get in on that action, find Brynjolf in the market place. I'm sure he could use someone like you.'

Azrael looked bleakly at the brute. Maul swallowed, be he couldn't know what the Assassin had on his mind. Without realizing, the Nord gave away two pieces of information that were very valuable to the Elf. Specifically that the Guild was not doing so well, and that Brynjolf was in the marketplace, far from the rest of the other thugs. They were excellent news.

'Well…' Azrael sighed. 'Thanks, I guess. So long, Maul.'

'Be seeing you around.'

 _If the Guild is truly not doing so well, I might be able to blackmail them and force them to reveal the location of Esbern. They must know something,_ the Assassin said to himself, walking past the bridge and going towards the market place. _And if Brynjolf is truly around here, we can discuss the matter in the light of day. That's a good advantage to have._

The market place was busy. Azrael remembered some names from the last time he had gone trough there. He clearly remembered Brand-Shei, that Dark Elf with the Argonian name. Quite the character. There was also Grelka and her brusque manners, and the jeweler, whose name the Assassin had forgotten. Brynjolf was on the side closer to him, selling some other miraculous item.

To Azrael's surprise, Brynjolf approached him before he could reach him. The Assassin did not trust him, and made sure the stonewall divided them.

The Dunmer was not aware that Maul was following him from far behind, observing him.

The Nord looked as Brynjolf engaged in conversation with Azrael. Maul knew that he would have had to put up a good explanation or an even better excuse to make him do what he had planned. Brynjolf had his ways, but even then he might have not be able to convince the Elf. Maul, however, had the suspect that the Elf wanted something from Brynjolf specifically. If that was true, they could not have been more lucky. With that advantage, they could have made the Dunmer play as they wanted, and then corner him like a rat.

Maul circled around the market place, looking at the two talking. The Dark Elf kept a hand on both waists, showing his confidence, and kept looking at Brynjolf with his usual ice-cold stare. Bryn, on the other hand, was not discouraged by that display of self-control, and was talking fluently and in a very theatrical way. At one point specifically, the eyes of the Dunmer sparkled. His cold expression changed into a mocking one. You could tell just from his eyes, which was the only visible thing of his entire face. The rest was hidden behind the mask and the crimson hood.

The two kept talking for a while. Brynjolf never gave up, and judging by the two, annoyed glares the Elf directed towards him, Maul could guess that he had been forced into doing something he didn't like, or he wouldn't have done if not for necessity. That was good. Bryn always had his ways.

The Dunmer walked off, on the other side of the market place. A moment later, Brynjolf began talking aloud.

'Everyone, everyone!' he said, in his emphatic and energetic voice that he had when he was acting. 'Gather round! I have something amazing to show you that requires your attention!'

People started coming from all around, with very different expressions on their faces. Anger, annoyance, interest… You name it. Maul frowned. Was that a part of his plan? What was the Dark Elf supposed to do, using that distraction? Not he even he could guess. The Dunmer was not in sight, that was for sure. Maul put his forearms on the stonewall and smirked, looking at how Bryn had on those idiots for the third time in a row.

'You need to see this!' he kept announcing.

'Come on, Brynjolf,' sighed Brand-Shei. 'What is it this time?'

'Patience, my friend. Patience. This is a rare opportunity, and I wouldn't want you to get left out.'

'That's what you said about the Wisp Essence,' groaned Madesi. 'It turned out to be crushed Nirnroot mixed with water.'

'That was simple misunderstanding!' Brynjolf said cheerfully. 'This item is the real thing! Lads and lasses I give you, Falmerblood Elixir!'

'Oh, come on, are you talking about the Snow Elves?' asked Brand-Shei again.

'The one and only! Well, anyone want some? No? It's here every moment, if you want to think about it! Well, looks time my time's up!'

Maul ate right back his smirk when the vast majority of the people turned back and returned to their stalls. Among the comments, some were quite clear, like Madesi's "what a waste of time" and Brand-Shei's "damn, I knew I shouldn't have waited". Maul looked around, and one thing puzzled him: where had the Dunmer gone? Brynjolf had finished his prank, and now all was back to normal, and yet he was perfectly calm and even with a slight grin on his face.

'Hey, guard,' said Madesi to a passing patrol of three soldiers. 'My strongbox is open. Someone stole my ring!'

'Theft!' said one of the guards. 'How long ago was it taken?'

'The strongbox was closed when I went and listened to Brynjolf. It's got to be around here somewhere!'

Maul looked as the three guards scattered. One of them happened to know exactly where to go looking. She approached Brand-Shei's stall and drew her sword.

'All right, Brand-Shei. Turn out your pockets, we know you have it.'

'Have what? What in blazes are you talking about?' asked the Dunmer, angered by that sudden aggression.

Brynjolf, back at his stall, looked peacefully at the scene as it unraveled. He even forgot about putting more Falmerblood Elixir on the counter, he was just content with looking at what he had obtained.

'Don't play stupid!' threatened the guard. 'I said turn out your pockets. Now!'

'I'm telling you, I don't… Wait, what's this ring? This isn't mine!'

Maul strangled a sigh of pure astonishment. Did that Dunmer just unlock a strongbox, walk all the way to the other side of the marketplace and place the ring in the Brand-Shei's pockets without anyone, absolutely anyone, noticing? If that just happened, Brynjolf had just found the best golden eggs making hen he had seen in decades. Meanwhile, the struggle between the guard and the Dark Elf vendor continued, but it wouldn't have lasted very long.

'That's right, it isn't yours,' said the guard. 'You're under arrest, Brand-Shei.'

'This is insane!' protested the Elf. 'I didn't steal anything! I never saw this ring before in my entire life!'

'We can do this one of two ways:' replied the soldier, calmly. 'You can walk with me up to the keep, or I can drag your lifeless body. Your choice.'

'But I… Very well.'

All eyes were pointed towards the Dark Elf vendor getting escorted to the prison, and no one seemed to have eyes for the other Dark Elf, who was walking up to Brynjolf in that very moment. Maul could not believe his eyes. He had seriously done all of that without anyone seeing him. Not even Maul himself had seen anything, and that Dunmer had walked right under his nose! Now that he thought of it, he actually saw a strange shade hiding behind the stonewall, be he gave it no importance. Not that he should have, but Brand-Shei definitely should have given that its importance.

Brynjolf looked content at the Assassin coming his way.

'Looks like I chose the right person for the job,' he said, with a slight nod of admiration. 'And here you go. Your payment,' he added, handing a small purse over to Azrael, 'just as I promised. With the way things have been going around here it's a relief that our plan worked out without a hitch.'

'And how are things going?'

'My organization has been having a round of bad luck, but I suppose that's just how it goes.' He sighed. 'But never mind that. You did the job, and you did it well,' he continued, and his voice suddenly recovered the actor tone he had before. 'Best of all, there's more where that came from, if you think you can handle it.'

'Of course I can handle it,' replied Azrael. Brynjolf liked his reassuring undertone.

'All right. Let's put that to the test. The group I represent has his home in the Ratway…'

Brynjolf stopped all of a sudden. He saw the Dunmer reaching abruptly for his belt, grabbing the dagger and unsheathing it. He turned around, wondering if there was someone behind him that the Dark Elf was not happy to see, but there was no one behind him. And he now showed his back to the Assassin.

Just like the latter wanted.

Azrael dashed forward, grabbed the man's neck with one hand and with the other held the Blade of Woe, stinging his spine. Brynjolf understood at once the game at which the Dunmer had been playing all that time. He gained his trust, made him feel sure, and then acted as if someone was behind him. The moment he let his guard down, he had exploited his confidence and got him. The man felt the strong arm of the Elf imprisoning him and the sharp tip of the dagger nipping at his back.

'Wait, lad, what are you doing?'

'Nothing. You, instead, are going to direct me to the Ratway. To the Ragged Flagon.'

'Go by yourself,' Brynjolf risked, playing tough. 'It's hard to miss.'

'How about you accompany me there?' asked the Assassin. 'Unless you give me the information I want right now.'

If he brought him down in the Ragged Flagon, Brynjolf would have the support he needed. Even that Elf could not have beaten the twelve or more members of the Guild that could fight. He tried to buy some time, and convince him to go down in the Ratway. He would have had a better chance there. He had no intention of giving him any kind of information in that moment.

'You won't get any information on the old man you're looking for. Not until you have done enough to make the favor exchange acceptable.'

'Let's get going, then,' replied the Assassin, emotionlessly. 'Lead the way.'

'See that canal there? There's a set of stairs by the bridge, we need to go down there.'

'Good. Just one thing: try to scream or cry for help and this blade cracks your spine.'

'Got it, lad, don't worry.'

Seen on the outside, they looked like two colleagues that, for whatever reason, walked very close to one another. Azrael had moved his cloak forward to hide the dagger he kept on the man's back. Brynjolf, on the other hand, dared not call for help. He wasn't sure why the Dunmer was keeping him alive, but he had the suspect that he just wanted to resolve that matter of his without shedding blood. Not for honor, just convenience. If he killed someone, someone else would have been looking for revenge. If no one died, he could have settled everything he wanted and walked away. Brynjolf was just that, at the moment: merchandise. Something to be sold out to obtain information.

'Down this way,' said the man.

Azrael just followed the lead and went down the set of wooden stairs that led to the nearest entrance to the Ratway. Brynjolf was battling against fear. Any sudden move and that dagger would have been thrust forward into his belly, and that would have been the last his accomplices heard of him.

'You know, Brynjolf,' said the Assassin, slowly and coldly. 'I enjoyed your little show up there. You are quite the character. I think that once you drop your recruit gatherer act, you might actually be a very good person.'

'What makes you think that?' asked back the man, trying to remain calm.

'Your gaze. It… flickers. Don't you think that I'm considering to trust you in any way, I just wanted to tell you.'

'Why did you not trust me? I trusted you.'

'Sooner or later you could have stabbed me in the back, so I decided to do that first. Before you think any presuming or stupid things, I know that down in the Flagon there will be at least ten or fifteen people that will be ready to fight for your freedom. I'm not making any illusions.'

'Why are you keeping me alive, then?'

'You talked about the Thieves Guild like it was your own property. "My organization", "I represent"… Things of that such. You're not the leader, I think, but you're someone important down there. And yes, that's why I'm not killing you.'

'I thought you wanted to prevent bloodshed.'

'That's the aim, but it depends on your accomplices. If they give me what I want, then yes. If they don't… Heads will fall. By Azura, heads will fall.'


	10. Blade and Word

'Got the item. And the coin.'

'Good, Lark. You are starting to be decent in these missions.'

'From you, Vex? That's a comment with the weight of a mountain.'

'Delvin, I say that to everyone sooner of later. And you, Lark, don't flatter yourself. Decent means decent. It's not good or anything like that. It's just about adequate.'

'I know. Figured that already. This place is trembling on its feet, so either I'm not good enough in comparison to the old legends, or I'm not enough to bring this place but at its splendor.'

'You talk about splendor, but you've got no idea of how it really was,' said Drak. 'Back when Gallus led this thing, the Flagon rivaled the Imperial City in brightness. Not that Mercer is doing bad, he's doing everything he can, but the currents of time are just drowning us in bad luck.'

'And there goes the thinker at his best,' Vex mocked him. 'This place needs practical remedies to come back, and you and Old Delvin are just mumbling about curses and currents of time.'

'Vex is right, guys. You're part of a dying breed,' concurred Vekel.

'Brynjolf swears the new one that he's bringing is different.'

'We all heard that one before from him,' snarled Dirge, in his cavernous voice. 'He really oughta quit kidding himself.'

'Hey, Bryn!' cried Vekel from the counter, looking at the other side of the circular pool in the center of the hall. 'Did you get anything up there? When is the new one coming?'

Brynjolf walked in a rather funny way: he was making short steps, always with his pelvis stretched out forward. It looked like he was blind drunk and had troubles keeping on his feet, but almost everyone noticed the grim shade that came behind him. A long black cloak flapped behind him, and over his head peaked the shape of a bow and quiver. He wore a dark armor, black and crimson. Delvin and Drak, the two sitting at the far right end of the room, saw that he kept a dagger pointed at Bryn's back.

Brynjolf looked behind himself.

'Lad?' he asked.

'No,' answered a deep and glacial voice of a Dunmer. It was the shadow that spoke. 'You explain.'

'Bryn? What in blazes…?'

'You!' cried Dirge, angered. 'Hands off him, or I'll split your skull!'

'Dirge, calm down for a moment,' said Brynjolf. 'As of now, I'm a hostage. This Dunmer behind me is the one that killed Grelod the Kind, and what I told you was to be our new member,' he explained, then looked behind him. 'You go on,' he added, clearly talking to the Dark Elf.

'Very well,' the Assassin answered. He put an arm around Brynjolf's neck and went forward, making sure everybody saw him. He gave every single person, aside from Old Delvin, an ice-cold stare, seeing who reacted, and how, and who didn't. He studied the situation before proceeding. 'I got blackmailed by your friend here,' he said, slowly. 'I wanted information on a person named Esbern, who I know to be hiding in the Ratway. I don't have the time and nor the will to fulfill my end of the bargain that Brynjolf offered me. So… You either tell me where Esbern is, or your friend here dies. I'm giving you a minute.'

In the Ragged Flagon fell a silence with the same weight as a boulder. The members of the Thieves Guild looked at each other, then at Brynjolf, then at the Assassin, and then back at each other. They were unsure of what to do. Azrael observed them as they gathered in front of him in the dim light, whispering lowly and arguing. Brynjolf, in the meantime, stood still and barely breathed. The Dunmer kept looking at the Thieves.

'Thirty seconds,' he reminded.

'Listen, jester,' groaned Dirge, 'let Bryn off or I'll smash your guts and hang then on that very column.'

'That would be artistic,' replied the Assassin, with an undertone of sarcasm. 'But you so much lift a finger and your friend here breathes his last. Twenty seconds.'

'Bryn, is it the one I'm thinking of?' asked Vekel.

'Yes,' replied the man. 'But don't tell him anything.'

'Ten seconds.'

'Damn it, if this is all a pitiful mockery I'll gut you alive, Dark Elf!'

'I couldn't care less. Your time is running short.'

'To Oblivion with this!'

Dirge grabbed the two-handed battleaxe he kept fastened to his back and charged forward, towards the Dark Elf. The blade rose above them as the huge man prepared to make it descend of his enemy. His mates, behind him, did not concur with his choice and started yelling at him.

'No!'

'Dirge, Divine's sake!'

The Assassin saw the blow coming, and he made sure that it served the right purpose. To himself, obviously. He quickly skipped back, getting out of range of the uppercut, and used his other hand to pull in Brynjolf, who ended up precisely where the Dunmer stood not a moment ago. Exactly where the blade of the battleaxe was going to land.

'Dirge, no!'

The huge brute tried to stop the swing, but not even his arms could muster the strength necessary to stop the blade from reaching its inevitable target. The large edge sank right in Brynjolf's collarbone, cracking it and making blood gush all around. He screamed. He wore his civilian clothing: there was not even a thin leather protection to shield his skin. The blade sank deep, but did not reach the artery underneath. The man fainted on the spot, but did not die. The axe got imprisoned in his flesh, and Dirge did not even try to take it out. It was sure to kill Bryn.

When he raised his head, he crossed gazes with the Assassin. His eyes were flickering red.

'Oh, well,' he whispered. 'You asked for it.'

The members of the Thieves Guild took the initiative this time around. The first that ran into the fray were Vex, Lark and Drak. Tonilia and Delvin followed close behind, while Vekel took shelter behind the counter. Dirge lunged mercilessly at the Dunmer, only his bare hands to use and his blind rage to guide him. Azrael unsheathed the Blade of Woe calmly and coldly, and just backpedaled to gain some much needed space.

'We've got you!'

'I'll kill you!'

'Come and try.'

The fight began, and it was savage right from the very beginning. Dirge spun his fists around like a windmill, trying to catch his enemy. Azrael simply ducked under both and struck back with strength, reaching for the solar plexus with his knee and dispatching him. Dirge bent and fell aside, struggling to breathe. Vex came immediately after, thrusting her dagger forward and trying to stab the Assassin, but to little avail. The Dunmer dodged, shoved Lark aside with his shoulder and kept focusing on Vex. She attached again, with a simple swing. Azrael parried, deflecting the blow and knocking her off balance, and the counter-struck, kicking her hard on the knee and making her stagger back.

'Curse you…'

'Forward, boy!'

Now both Lark and Drak surrounded him. The young and the old thief attacked at the same time, but they both got humbled horribly as the Dunmer grabbed Lark's wrist and jerked it. He simultaneously parried and reposted Drak's swipe with a quick stab that reached his chest. The tip of the Blade of Woe was now red.

'Surround him!'

'Watch his blade!'

Azrael did a fluid roll backwards, gaining a good three meters of distance between him and his enemies. Vex was now on her feet again, limping but standing, and Dirge managed to pick himself up as well. Drak kept a hand on the stabwound on his chest, but kept walking. Lark was advancing again with his side covered by Tonilia and Delvin. They all came forward, with growls of pain, anger and tension on their faces as they walked.

They formed a semi-circle around the Assassin and then attacked.

Azrael had to use his speed, dexterity and reflexes to their full extent to survive the hail of blades that rained on him. The Blade of Woe moved so fast in the air that none of the thieves saw it moving, parrying all their strikes one by one and making them all stagger back. Azrael, seemingly not tired after that series of sudden movements, was the first to act. He was not aiming to kill, only to beat his opponents. He gave a fist in the face to Vex, kicked Dirge on the knee, head-butted Lark and struck Drak with the handle of the dagger in the throat.

Delvin and Tonilia got on him immediately, giving their mates time to recover.

They were no match for the Assassin. Delvin swung, but hit thin air. Tonilia tried a thrust, but Azrael just dodged behind her and tripped her, making her fall down. He stomped her chest, leaving her on the ground gasping for air. Delvin tried again his luck, but the Dunmer parried and crossed their blades, preventing the old man from moving away.

'Azrael, this isn't what we agreed,' muttered the old thief.

'It is. You are to stay silent about our past deals. If you don't, both of us will regret it.'

'My silence didn't include me sayin' nothing before you slaughterin' my pals.'

'All you needed to do was give me the information I needed.'

'If Brynjolf thinks it's too valuable, I trust him. I'd sooner trust him than someone who murders for a living.'

'I'm more than a murderer, old man. Listen, we end this right now. Tell me what I want, or you die. All of you.'

'Never.'

'As you will it.'

The Dunmer grabbed the old thief's arm and pulled it left. Delvin stumbled and fell in the pool with a loud splash, while the Assassin made an impressive pirouette and withdrew from the thick of the fight. Drak and Lark had recovered, and they were coming nearer Delvin to cover him. However, Azrael had other plans.

He slowly lowered his mask, and inhaled deeply.

'Fus… Ro Dah!'

Dirge, Vex and Tonilia looked at the blue wave of force colliding with them and pushing them away, making them slide of the floor and stumble back. Vex hit one of the poles of the wooden bridge, Dirge slid all the way across it and Tonilia barely managed to stay out of the water.

Drak, and old Nord with many years on his back, immediately understood what had happened, and understood even faster that there was no escape. When the blue circle of pure force reached him he felt as if he had been hit by an unnaturally strong gust of wind. It shook his whole body, and he felt as if his guts had stretched up all the way to his throat, but could give it no further thought. The strength of the Shout lifted him up in the air and propelled him backwards across the entire tavern. He eventually got back to the ground, but with his back on the floor and his head halted by the counter. His neck cracked.

Lark had never heard of Shouts, Tongues or whatnot. Let alone the Dragonborn. He was a Breton, no one had told him those stories. He got pushed back with insane strength, lost contact with the ground and crushed against one of the pillars. As he hit the rock, he slowed for a moment. He was still alive, though he wouldn't have been for long. As soon as he started falling down an arrow with black vanes sank in his ribcage.

'Nine Divines…' swore Vex loudly, looking at the body of the boy falling into the water and dying it of red. 'He killed him!'

'Gods help us!' cried Vekel from behind the counter, still covering his head with both hands.

'Help me… Help…' muttered Delvin, who had just crawled out of the pool.

Azrael had wasted no time. He put the bow back beside the quiver and dashed forward with the Blade of Woe kept back, ready to be thrust into the old thief's chest. His long cloak flapped. Soon he would have dealt the final blow of the fight. It was a matter of time, a fight against seconds.

'He killed the Emperor!'

Everything in the room froze as if time itself had stopped flowing.

Delvin closed his eyes, feeling the hiss of the dagger reaching his chest, and with that, his death. But it never came, the whisper of the blade never even got to his ears. All the others had lost interest in the two corpses all of a sudden, and were staring at the Dunmer. Vex eyes had widened significantly, since she had been wondering who had been the brave fool who did that. Everybody else was stunned. None looked at poor Drak, lying with his head against the counter. All the same, none cared any more about Lark and the red circle that expanded in the water.

'Delvin…' hissed the Assassin. His voice was dreadful.

'Out of things to say, ain't ya?'

'Yes,' admitted Azrael, seemingly freely. His tone was cold again. 'Well done, I guess. You've trapped me. You've broken our agreement, and now if I just let any of you survive I'll have the whole of Skyrim right at my back.'

'Delvin, what are you even talking about?' asked Dirge.

'Vex, do me a favor and gather some lads from the Cistern. Do not tell them about the Emperor thing,' replied the old thief, not taking his eyes off the Assassin. Vex casted a suspicious glance at the Dunmer and strolled off. 'For you others, that story is of no importance to you. My agreement with his implies I do not tell you anything about his affairs. Azrael, sheath your blade. Now your fate's in our hands.'

'Looks like,' he responded, emotionless.

Tonilia, Dirge and Vekel were confused. They did not fully understand what game Delvin and the Assassin had been playing, and why had the old thief won all of a sudden. The cloaked Dunmer walked over to Brynjolf, who had been forgotten and left in his sorry state. The axe was still stuck in his shoulder, and he hadn't come to his senses yet.

'Delvin, what's this about?'

The old thief did not answer; he just waited for the Dunmer to aid Bryn. The Elf kneeled beside the man, grabbed the blade of the battleaxe and pulled it out of the flesh cage. Bryn screamed loudly, suddenly returning in the world of the living. No way Delvin could have spoken louder that that cry.

'Quiet, now,' the Dunmer quietly laughed.

'My shoulder…' groaned Brynjolf. 'What… What happened?'

'Your old friend Delvin played a mean trick on me, and now I'm at his mercy. I'll give you a potion, Brynjolf. You'd better drink it or your collarbone might never heal.'

'What…' mumbled Tonilia, but then anger and confusion burst out in an angry cry. 'What the bloody hell is going on here?'

Azrael did not react. He took a red flask out of his bandolier, untapped it with his teeth and accosted it to Brynjolf's mouth. The man began slowly sipping from it, while the Dunmer slowly touched his wound, a warm light coming out of his hand. Delvin remained silent, astonished by his action. The old thief had won their fight, no second thoughts about that, but Azrael had conceded without a single complain. He stared, amazed, until the Assassin turned and casted a calm and sardonic glance at him.

'Delvin? Do I need to explain?'

'No… No, Azrael,' he replied. 'I'll do it.'

'So? What is this jest?' insisted Tonilia.

'I know Azrael has killed the Emperor,' explained Delvin, making silence fall once again. 'He forced me to keep my mouth shut, in a letter he sent me a day ago. However, he didn't imply that some of us might die. Soon as it happened, I could break my oath or whatnot. Now you know he's killed the Emperor, so he now needs to buy our silence, essentially.'

'Lad… You? You killed the Emperor?' whispered Brynjolf.

'I did,' answered Azrael, glacial, as if he was talking about the rain of the day before. The wound on Brynjolf's shoulder had almost closed, and now that most of the red concoction had flown down the man's throat he had stopped groaning. He had closed his eyes, and was breathing deeply.

'Delvin? Come on! What else?' Tonilia pressed on. 'Why did he simply not kill all of us?'

'I'm not stupid,' replied Azrael in Delvin's stead. 'Look how you were across the room. Delvin slightly behind me, the woman with straw-colored hair ahead of me, that huge blonde brute father back, you…' He pointed to Tonilia. 'Over there, and that man all the way behind the counter. I couldn't have killed you all before you escaped. Had I killed Delvin, the fair-haired woman and that sort of innkeeper, the brute would have made it out… Perhaps. Maybe if I fired two arrows in one draw. Could have tried that, but you' he said, pointing at Tonilia again. 'would have gotten away.'

Brynjolf, Tonilia and Delvin were left most surprised by that quick and yet flawless analysis of the battleground they fought on. Brynjolf's thoughts raced quickly, and he understood how valuable of a resource that Elf could have been. He had calculated everything of that place, even if he had never seen it before. Every millimeter of floor, wall and ceiling had been carefully examined.

'Now what?' asked Dirge.

'Now, we need to decide which price we want him to pay for our silence,' continued Delvin. 'Hopefully Vex will be back shortly, and Mercer might decide what to do with out dear Elf.'

'Delvin…' said Brynjolf. 'Should I pass out again… Tell Mercer not to kill nor imprison him. We need the lad. Tell him to… To accept my previous agreement.'

'What're on abou', Bryn?'

'The lad and I agreed that he would have joined the Guild and… done some missions for us. He refused at first, by dragging me here, but now it might be our best chance. Don't take revenge on him. He would be more useful to us on our side than on the opposite.'

The door that led to the Cistern opened. They only heard it. They were all looking at the Assassin as he helped Brynjolf to get up. The footsteps of four people reached their ears, and they all casted quick glances at the corridor once they emerged from the darkness. Azrael himself looked, and saw two familiar faces. The first, Vex, and the third, Etienne. The Breton thief recognized him immediately.

'You!' he cried. 'I never thought I'd have ever seen you again!'

'Me neither,' grinned Azrael, helping Brynjolf to sit on one of the chairs.

The others came closer, approaching the four that came in. The Assassin realized after a while that he had seen the fourth thief as well. She was Sapphire, a woman he had confronted for the freedom of a poor man in the upper city. He did not know who the second man was, and his angered face did not exactly inspire him. The man barely noticed him, however. He simply spoke.

'So, I've been told that there's a killer about. He has killed Drak and Lark it seems…' he added, looking at the two corpses, the one of Lark still floating in the water. 'Who was the reckless sucker that dared attack us? Who did this?'

'I did.'

All heads turned again to Azrael. Him and the unknown man exchanged glances. The angry stare of the latter crossed the ice-cold glare of the Assassin. They confronted each other for several moments, and then the man broke off, seemingly out of annoyance. Brynjolf, however, had the suspect that he could not stand against the Elf any longer.

'And who are you?' asked the man, with an undertone of arrogance.

'Why, Azrael the Assassin,' he sneered, his tone mysteriously sounding glacial and sarcastic at the same time. 'The Dunmer that just killed two of your agents. Instead of repeating this farce again, just tell me what I need to do to repay your loss.'

The man burst into a dark laugh. He stole a glance at the Dark Elf. Well… A glance is quite the understatement. It was a murderous glare. Azrael didn't budge nor move. He remained still, impassible, his eyes cold as winter.

'You'll die,' simply replied the man.

'No, Mercer,' said Brynjolf, almost cutting his off. 'This is the one I was talking about. Our new recruit.'

'So now every new recruit starts killing two professionals?' cried the man, Mercer. 'That's a good balance, damn it.'

'Mercer, listen. The lad has done wrong, he knows that. Our agreement with him stands. He'll help us resolve our recent problems, then he'll be on his way with the information he needs.'

'And what kind of information does he need, exactly?'

'The location of the old man that paid us to hide him.'

'Well, simply never give him what he wants. This Elf must have enemies. We'll surrender that old fuck to his sworn foes. That will be our sweet vengeance…'

'No!' screamed Etienne. 'Mercer, no! I… I know this Elf. He was the one who saved me from the Thalmor Embassy! You… You just can't surrender that Esbern to the Thalmor. I don't care what they do to him, but I'll never let them touch anything they want again, if it kills me.'

'I don't care…'

'Mercer, for goodness's sake!' Brynjolf intervened, shouting with all the air he had in his lungs. 'Stop this. I'm telling you, I swear that on my head: this lad is worthy of trust. He has a knack for stealth, he could do things none of us have been able to do. How can we trust him, you say? Well, he just healed me back from a wound that would have killed me. He saved Etienne. He admitted defeat.'

'He killed two of us, Bryn!'

Brynjolf, who was out of his senses when that happened, remained silent. However, help came unexpected from old Delvin. Azrael wouldn't have banked on it, but he knew that the old thief admired him deeply. He would have never let anyone touch him with one finger, not now that a fragile agreement was so close to being made.

'Yes, Mercer, but I can personally assure you that it wasn't his intention. The fault's on us, because we didn't give him the information he wanted. He's a skilled killer; we gambled with him and paid a hefty price. Now it's time to set those incidents aside, and let him pay back what he owes us. I think that, hard as it may sound, his services might prove more valuable that the lives of Drak and Lark.'

'What you're saying is revolting, old man, but I'll tolerate,' replied Mercer. 'Now…'

'Now we're finished,' interrupted the Assassin. 'I've had enough of this. I'll do your damned work as long as you require it, I'll formally join the Guild and cover your backs if I'm able. In exchange, you'll not allow any Thalmor to get close to Esbern, you'll let me send a letter to a friend of mine right after we're done here, and at the end of it all you'll provide the location of Esbern. Is that all right, or do you Thieves enjoy chatting and shouting at each other that much?'

After he had spoken, complete silence fell. It was palpable, heavy as it was. Mercer had an angry look on his face, and he kept exchanging glances with the Assassin, but never found one trace of weakness in his red eyes, which seemed to flare with crimson flames. He spit on the ground and turned back.

'Fine!' he cried. 'Brynjolf, you'll take care of him. Sent him to get our payments after he's done writing that damned letter of his, then give his all the information he might need on Goldenglow Estate. We're done!'

And then he disappeared behind the door.

The thieves looked at each other in astonishment, awe and confusion. They spoke to each other quietly, lowly, whispering and mumbling to whoever was close to them. Tonilia waved two fingers at Vekel, who came closer to her without taking his gaze off the Assassin. Vex and Dirge started discussing in mumbles. Azrael stole a glance at Brynjolf, who just smiled weakly and nodded. He was fine for the time being. The potion had done wonders. The Dark Elf walked off, towards a table. He had to write the letter he would have sent to Delphine to explain the delay. Delvin looked at him grabbing a sheet of paper and a quill from the counter. The old thief discreetly sat at his table, and looked at him writing. Azrael covered the text with his left forearm.

 _Lady Doubt,_

 _I'm more stupid than I thought. I've been  
_ _delayed by our dear friends of the Thieves Guild.  
_ _I'll get Esbern as soon as I can. For now, they've  
_ _guaranteed me that they'll let no Thalmor near him.  
_

 _Your friend, the Dragonborn_

'What do you want, Delvin?' asked the Dunmer coldly while he was writing the last words.

'You'll explain me how on earth you were able use the Voice there before.'

Azrael laughed grimly.

'Oh, Delvin, Delvin…' he sneered. 'You of all people should know. There are things that are better left… Concealed.'


	11. Where honey flows like water

'There's not much more I can do here, Bryn,' replied Tonilia. 'That potion the Elf gave you did blasted miracles on your bone. Can't fathom where he learned that.'

'He's got many aces up his sleeve,' commented old Delvin from his table, sipping at some mead.

'Thanks for pointing that out Delvin. I hadn't noticed,' she replied, sardonic. 'I guess he only yelled at us creating blue hurricanes that killed two of our pals, took on six people by himself and shot an arrow into a flying body. I've seen that a hundred times.'

'Better you don't jest 'bout him, Ton. He's… Oh, here you are, Azrael.'

Tonilia turned her head around and saw the Assassin walking on the wooden bridge just two meters away from her. She had heard some muffled thuds, but she never would have thought it was him. That Elf was very silent, and that kept ringing in her mind as she looked at him walking closely and stealing an amused glace at her.

'Thanks for the compliments,' he said, lapidary. 'Brynjolf, got your things.'

'So,' said the man, raising both eyebrows in a satisfied look. 'Job's done and you even brought the coin. Best of all you did it clean. I like that. Dumping bodies and keeping the guards quiet can be expensive.'

'You'll need to do neither,' said Azrael, putting a fat purse on the table.

'Well done, lad. Judging from how well you've handled those shopkeepers, I'd say you've done more than simply prove yourself. We need people like you in our outfit.'

'Well, the faster I get out of here, the better. Point me to whatever you need, and I'll do that.'

'That's the spirit!' Brynjolf encouraged him. 'Larceny's is in your blood. The telltale sign of a practiced thief. I think you'll do more than just repay your debt while around here.'

'Listen, Bryn, one thing…'

'What's on your mind?'

'The round of bad luck your organization, or Thieves Guild, has had… What about that?'

'If you really want to get out of the Guild influence in little time, that will not be your problem. If you do what we tell you to do, and do it well, the Guild might be better by the time you leave.'

'Fine, I guess.'

'Good. Now, since you're in a hurry, how about following me and I'll show you what we're all about?'

Brynjolf struggled to get up, but didn't ask for any help. Azrael, immediately empathizing, didn't offer him any. The thief just stood up and smiled wearily at him. The Assassin, at that point only, walked closer to him and threw the man's arm over his shoulders. Slowly but steadily, Brynjolf started limping forward.

'That way, lad.'

'Doesn't this remind you of something? Just from five hours ago?'

'It does, lad. It really does.'

The thief and the Assassin laughed heartily together. Vex and Tonilia stole quick glances at them, half amazed and half irritated by the merry behavior of their second in command and their new temporary friend. The two had almost killed each other not half a day ago, and now there were laughing about it like lunatics. Vex in particular found that trait especially annoying in men, and yet strangely welcome and warming. She had seen her fair share of winters on her shoulders, but she had never been with a man.

Meanwhile Brynjolf had taken the key from his pocket and unlocked the door that led to the Cistern. He opened it wide with a little help from the Elf, and then they both set foot in the hall, with the same circular pool that the Ragged Flagon also had. There were a lot of people walking by, all donning the Thieves Guild armor. Out of all of them, only Etienne waved briefly at him. Azrael replied with a slight nod. The yellow light that got through the grate on the ceiling dyed all things of a strange milky tint.

'Aedra and Daedra, good thing I didn't try to kill all the people in the other room,' whispered Azrael.

'Why is that?'

'Because there was another hefty amount here. I could have killed them, but… You know, none of us is exactly invulnerable. Certainly not me.'

'How can I argue with that?' the man tittered. 'Anyway, now we'll meet with Mercer and receive further instruction. Just don't drop my arm all of a sudden.'

'Don't you worry. By the way, you talk to that idiot. I'd sooner drown in one of your pools here than have business with him.'

'Mercer!' called out Brynjolf, still smiling weakly at the blunt sincerity of the Dunmer. 'The new recruit is ready to receive further orders.'

'Oh, finally,' murmured Mercer, in his unpleasant tone. 'Before we continue, murderer, I want to make things perfectly clear. If you play by the rules, you'll walk away alive. You break those rules and you'll neck will answer for it. No debates, no discussions. You'll do what we say, when we say it. Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes, your eminence,' sneered the Dunmer. Brynjolf ate right back the snigger that got to his mouth. That lad made him cry with laughter at times. Mercer just overlooked the insolence.

'Good, then I think it's time to put your expertise to the test.'

Brynjolf's face went darker all of a sudden.

'Wait a minute… You're not truly talking about Goldenglow, are you? Even our little Vex couldn't get in.'

'You claim this killer posses an aptitude for our line of work, and old Delvin says it's worth Lark and Drak both. So, let him prove it. I'll not use him for lower priority assignment. Goldenglow Estate is critically important to one of our largest clients,' he continued, now looking at the Assassin. 'However, the owner has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson. Brynjolf will provide you with the details.'

'Mercer, aren't you forgetting something?' said Brynjolf.

'Hm… Oh yes,' grumbled the man. 'As long as you need to repay your debt, you're in. Welcome to the Thieves Guild.'

* * *

'You can leave me here, lad.'

'Good. See you, Bryn.'

Azrael walked off, leaving Brynjolf alone on a chair in the Ragged Flagon. Old Delvin immediately approached the colleague and sat at his table. The Assassin had to talk to another person before he could depart. He couldn't say "hi" before the fair-haired thief began her lecture.

'Before we begin,' said Vex, bossily, 'I want to make two things perfectly clear: One, I'm the best infiltrator this rathole of a Guild's got, so if you think you're here to replace me, you're dead wrong. And two, you follow my lead and do exactly as I say. No question, no excuses.'

'Yes, your eminence number two.'

'Excuse me?' snapped the woman.

 _Thieves have developed a nasty allergy to sarcasm these days…_ Azrael said to himself, suppressing a quiet laugh.

'Yes, Vex. It's all clear. Just spare me your lecture. I'll only be here for half a month at most.'

'In that case, we understand each other perfectly,' she replied, surprisingly more courteous all of a sudden. 'Now… It's time to get your feet wet and I don't waste a lot of time talking about anything but business.'

'The more we discuss business, the faster I'm out of this crumbling ruin. What sort of business?'

'I'm not going to sugarcoat it for you. We're in a bad way down here. For the time you'll be here, you'll help us get out of it.'

'And how did you manage to drop this low?'

'Who knows…' she sighed. Azrael had been surprised by how her mood became increasingly better as she talked. Not that she was friendly in any way, but enough not to be irritating. 'Many have tried to figure it out. Old Delvin thinks it's some kind of curse. I think he's crazy. If you want my opinion, I think it's just plain old bad luck.'

'Well, that was interesting. Now, business. Goldenglow Estate. I need details.'

'Oh, they're sending you there? Be ready, or you'll be chopped like it's nothing.'

'Yeah, I heard you ran into trouble.'

'Hm… Yeah, I did,' she admitted. 'That Wood Elf's wit. He's a lot smarted than I expected. Can you believe that fetcher had more than tripled the guards? There must have been eight of them in there, plus the ones outside. It was like he was daring us to come and get him.'

'Details, Vex. Any specific obstacles, ways to get in unnoticed?'

'Well, there's and old sewer tunnel that dumps into the lake on the Northeast side of the island. That's how I slipped in there. Should be unguarded. That's all I know that could help you.'

'That will do. Thanks, Vex.'

'Good luck, even though it's run dry as of late.'

* * *

The expertise gained in previous assassination missions proved invaluable to Azrael as he crept into Goldenglow Estate. That place was locked up better than the Jarl's bedchambers, but even that amount of mercenaries couldn't patrol the whole extent of the lakeshore. The Assassin had swum there and used the sewer as Vex had suggested. Aside from a few skeevers there hadn't been that much trouble. The troubles had appeared inside, once the mercenaries noticed one of them missing. Troubles for the sellswords, definitely not for Azrael. Nobody had said anything against killing them.

Four of the mercenaries already lied lifeless on the main floor, while two more had just been dealt with in the upper one. One more leaned against the wall, facing a corner and mumbling quietly. A dagger reached his neck, and the stab cracked the first three vertebrae, killing the sellsword immediately and without even giving him the time to scream. Azrael knew that what he was searching for was in the basement, but he could not open it without the key. It could have been far beyond his ability in picking locks. He needed the key, and only Aringoth had it, according to what Brynjolf had told him.

So he went to Aringoth. Had he not given him the key of his own will, it would have been taken simply from him. Azrael trusted that it wouldn't have been necessary. He always trusted in the fact that you can get what you want more easily with a kind word and a blade to the throat than with just a kind word. Either way, he didn't plan to kill him. Brynjolf hadn't said anything about that, but if they needed the honey to keep coming, they also needed someone who could pay the workers and deal with them and that mysterious client Brynjolf had talked about. The Assassin, however, could not imagine who other than Maven Black-Briar, the greatest produced of mead in all of Skyrim, could want a steady supply of honey.

After a while of walking from the last corpse he arrived at the door of Aringoth's bedroom. He knocked, courteously. Professionals have standards.

'Anybody in?' he asked.

'Who goes there?' a Wood Elf's voice questioned back.

'Someone who wants the key to your safe. I can't open it by myself.'

'Are you… You're joking. How did you…? Guards! Bring this man out! He's not allowed here.'

'We're alone, Aringoth.'

'What… What do you mean? And where are they? I did not pay them to take strolls.'

'Well, you paid them for the risk of making a stroll in one specific place.'

'And where might that be?'

'The afterlife.'

The Dark Elf kicked the door and opened it wide. He entered the room, and immediately found a frightened Arningoth waiting for him with a bow drawn. The Bosmer released the shot as soon as he saw the Dunmer coming in, but the Assassin easily predicted the trajectory and ducked just low enough to avoid the tip of the projectile. He ran forward, and swung the Blade of Woe. The Bosmer parried with the elven bow he held, but the dagger cut through the moonstone and shredded the weapon.

Azrael gave the Elf a fist to the face, grabbed him by the neck and hurled him down violently.

'Always down to rough manners…' he sneered, searching the pockets of the fainted Bosmer.

 _Here's the key. What else? Let's look at his quiver. Good arrows. Orcish, quite deadly. Let's see how much can fit in here…_ he thought, while putting as many projectiles as he can in his quiver. He always kept a little spare space, and he had lost two arrows while making his way in. They broke while piercing the armor of the mercenaries. _Five, six… Seven, perfect. Anything else? Not on your body, but this room looks filled with riches. I guess nobody will mind if I get a little extra from my trips._

The Assassin looked around, and his gaze rested for a bit on a strange statue. It was a quite big figurine of a bee. He took it and fastened it to his belt. Maybe someone in the Guild would have been interested in something like this. After a few more moments of robbing and looting, he got out of the room and went downstairs. The next objective was the basement. However, three mercenaries had entered the main floor to check with their mates. Unfortunately, they only found corpses. When the Assassin found them, they were quite upset already.

'A ghost! A ghost haunts this place!'

'What're you on about?' snapped his pal, less frightened but equally worried. 'A killer got through here. Move, might still catch him.'

'I'm out! I'm not getting back anytime soon!'

'Stop that! They paid you to guard this place, so let's bloody do it!'

Meanwhile the third of them had mysteriously vanished. They stopped arguing after a while, without really resolving anything, but turning around different corners for long enough to be picked off one by one. Nothing easier than killing someone from the shadow when you've got poorly illuminated corridors and rooms that form a labyrinth. It's enough to wait for someone behind the corner, and if you really hate using weapons you can even smash their faces against the wall. The Assassin resigned to that method only one time, before proceeding into the basement.

He went through the gate that led down. While descending he was deep in thought.

 _Another secret and criminal organization, joined by pure accident and that contains enough good people to keep me from eradicating it. History repeating itself. I guess there's nothing wrong with it, as long as Esbern is safe and Dragons don't shred Tamriel to smithereens in the next couple of weeks. Oh well, just do the job and do it well, and Bryn says. Let's tackle with these mercenaries and finish the job in the basement._

He turned around and looked in the first room, peaking from a corner. Two sellswords were there, one sitting and the other one standing and looking at his mate.

 _Speak of the devil…_

There was some oil on the floor; that would have been the win condition. Azrael took one of the arrows he had taken from Aringoth, nocked it and released. The mercenary who showed him the back got hit in the calf, plainly exposed. The greave covered the front of the leg, the side that was supposed to take damage. But hitting when and where people are not expecting it is an assassin's specialty.

The sellsword howled in pain as the arrow hit his leg.

'Divines, what happened to you?' cried the other one, raising and stepping onto the oil.

Azrael freed his left hand and focused. Magicka ran through his arm, and a bright flame sparkled in his hands. He stretched his forearm, and the small blaze flared intensely. A stream of flames raged forward and touched the oil. The explosion was almost as bad as the barrels that had destroyed the Falkreath Sanctuary. The mercenaries got charred in their own armor, and dropped dead on the floor without further encouragement.

'Hey, what happened?' said a voice from a corridor on the right.

Azrael looked forward. There was a junction, with two doors. One led left and the other right. He needed to go towards the latter, if there was someone there. The door opened, and a worried warrior sprinted in the room, looking astonished at his two burned mates on the ground. He looked ahead, but saw nothing there.

'What happened to you?' he mumbled at the corpses.

A gloved hand covered his nose and mouth and gripped his neck. He couldn't breathe.

'I wanted some roast, but I cooked the wrong thing. I apologize,' said a voice from behind him.

The sellsword fainted as the last bit of air left his lungs. Azrael strengthened the grip, and after a moment the man's heart slowed, until it completely stopped. The Assassin put it on the ground, and without any more fuss continued along his route. He walked through a corridor, peaking at every corner. According to his observations, all the mercenaries in the building were dead, but it cost nothing to be a little bit surer. At the end of the corridor there was a flight of stairs, which led down in the room the Assassin had been looking for.

 _Fine, now the plundering begins. It's not that boring, actually._

Azrael grabbed the coin purse on the table, quickly picked the lock and grabbed the few things he found inside. Lastly, he took out the key Aringoth carried and opened the safe. Aside from a hefty amount of gold, he found a sheet of paper. He took a last glance into the safe to make sure he got everything, and then used the trapdoor on the side to return to the sewers. He knew that was there from the information he gathered. That sewer system had really helped him throughout the task.

* * *

'Hey, Limp Leg is missing. You seen him?'

'No. Wait… The beehives! They're burning!'

'What? How? Oblivion, man, run! We need to put out the fire!'

The two mercenaries ran to the hives. Two of them were blazing already, and a third one seemed to have been set alight as well. The island where the beehives were was quite long and far away from the others. The footbridges were stretched out, and once they got past them there was still some distance left to cover. The Assassin used it as much as he could, waiting patiently before sticking an arrow into the throat of one of them.

'Mara's Mercy!' cried the other, ducking behind one of the beehives. He saw where the arrow had come from, and tried to avoid the next. He crashed again something, guess what, and angry bees immediately started nipping at every bit of exposed skin he had. He started swaying and hurling around his arms. 'Damned bees! Stop bloody stinging me!'

A blade got stuck in between his shoulders.

'Come on, bees aren't that bad compared to daggers.'

Azrael looked at the burning beehives and sighed with satisfaction. The task was done; all had been executed to the best of both the Guild's expectations and his abilities. He walked towards the main gate, which he made sure was unguarded by the time he got out of the Estate. Mind you, he assured of it by dispatching of the poor soul that was sitting on the chair beside it.

As he walked out, he opened the sheet of paper that he found, and the title surprised him quite a lot. It was bill of sale. By how Brynjolf had talked to him about the Estate, it wasn't like Aringoth was going to sell it anytime soon. There was a little symbol on the top that looked like a sword with a small, black circle in the background. He kept on reading.

 _Aringoth,_

 _This document acknowledges the sale  
_ _of Goldenglow Estate and all property,  
_ _asset and materials contained within.  
_ _Payment of the property has been made  
_ _in full by_ Gajul-Lei _as an agent of behalf  
_ _of the buyer. All dealings with the Thieves  
_ _Guild is to cease immediately. To deter any  
_ _possible retribution for this act, you are to  
_ _take immediate steps to protect our assets  
_ _in any way you see fit. I think you'll find that  
_ _the Thieves Guild is far more bark than bite  
_ _and will likely avoid Goldenglow Estate rather  
_ _than thin their already dwindling numbers._

 _Good luck and may this be the start  
_ _to a long and lucrative partnership._

The Assassin sighed deeply.

" _More bark than bite"… Yeah, until a random Dunmer sweeps in. No signature, no name of the buyer. Daedra, not another blasted mystery…_


	12. Alpha

'Back already, lad?'

'I thought you'd be sleeping.'

'The others are. I wanted to wait for your return. Word among the guards in the street is Goldenglow's been hit. Good job, lad.'

'Here's what was in the safe.'

'Let me take a look at what you found.'

Azrael sat quietly in front of the man and handed him the Bill of Sale. Everybody else in the Cistern was indeed asleep, and there was no one else around that could interfere in their discussion. There was a pale moonlight coming from the grate above them, but the light mostly came from some braziers spread across the hall. Brynjolf was now wearing the Thieves Guild armor, a good quality suit of hardened leather. He couldn't have put it on by himself, someone else must had aided him. The man, although visibly tired, had been recovering from the wound very quickly. The Assassin knew that it could not have been his potion alone that did that. The man must have had a great deal of conviction. Moreover, Azrael suspected that Brynjolf had a deep respect for him. A healer in Morrowind once told him that the more one trusts the thing and the person healing him, the more powerful the effect is.

As fairly predictable, Brynjolf's brows rose in astonishment as he read. Once done, he looked at the Dunmer.

'Aringoth sold Goldenglow?' he asked, more to himself than to the Dark Elf. 'What's that idiot thinking? He has no idea the extent of Maven's fury once she's been cut out of the deal, but I'm certain he'll find out. If only the parchment had the buyer's name instead of this odd symbol… Any idea what that might be?'

'No clue.'

'Blast,' commented the man, calmly but a bit anxious. 'Well, I'll check my sources and speak to Mercer. For now, you're off to speak with Maven Black-Briar. She asked for you by name.'

Azrael's eyes sparkled red.

'I thought I'd only be involved in the Guild's business.'

'Maven and the Guild are much and the same. The only things that separates us it just the amount of coin. Everything else, interests, means and advantages gained are the same.'

'What does she want from me?'

'That's between you and her, and I prefer to keep in that way. Don't worry about it. Maven's business dealings usually involve quite a bit of gold for her people.'

'I guess it also provides me a favor done to get me out of here.'

'Yes,' grinned Brynjolf. The practical mind of the Dunmer mixed with his sense of humor got his attention and his respect. 'You're smart as whip, lad. If you just keep doing jobs with this standard, you'll be free in no time.'

'I guess Maven doesn't get up till later.'

'If you're asking if you'll find her now, it's unlikely. She said to visit her at the Bee and Barb, on the upper floor, and she sleeps at her home. You'd better wait 'till morning.'

The Assassin heaved a deep sigh and fell back on the chair, stretched his arms, crossed his fingers and cracked them. He had held the dagger for an hour, and they were stiffed. He looked around, first at the table where Mercer kept all his things and then at the beds. His gaze stopped on every member of the Guild, and Brynjolf saw a sparkle every time he moved to another face. His gaze was focused and impenetrable, but the way he was moving his head looked like a warning. Something along the lines of "The ally of today is only the enemy of tomorrow" or very similar.

Brynjolf himself looked around. He hadn't been able to walk by himself for the entire evening, and that gave him some time to think. There hadn't been a whole lot in those times. People were always running to him and asking him information, news, advice or suggestions. Mercer was the leader, true, but Bryn was the man that held the whole Guild united under one banner. He was the man they all gathered around when he spoke. He was the person that everyone in the Guild looked up to. He admired Mercer, true, but his angry expression and his rude manners often led Brynjolf to step back from him rather than trust him further. In that Dunmer that stumbled in his life seemingly out of pure chance, he saw the true leader and guide he had always wanted Mercer to be, but that he never became. Brynjolf did not long for the status of guild Master. He hated being in command. He hated taking decisions. He liked to be everywhere, know everything and have a grasp on everything. The only real reward he needed was a "well done" from his boss.

He had never heard that from Mercer.

The Assassin stole a long and penetrating glance at him. The Elf couldn't possibly know what he was thinking, the thought alone made him shudder, but for a moment he sensed that if the Dunmer would have been in Mercer's place, he would have heard a "well done" from him. He quickly realized what absurdities were going through his brain and shook his head. The Assassin's eyes sparkled as he gave a grim, and yet strangely rich laugh. Brynjolf smiled nervously.

'What, lad?' he asked.

'You tell me,' he sniggered. 'The words "what in bloody blazes am I thinking" got carved on your forehead for a moment. Can't imagine why, but it was quite funny.'

Brynjolf hesitated. His worst fears had become reality. Azrael had read his mind like he suspected, and apparently did so very well. As much as he had tried to erase the thought from his brain, the idea kept bouncing around in his head with strength. That sudden display of wit and empathy had further confirmed his thoughts, and the more he kept on thinking the more difficult it was to cast the stream of feelings out of his head.

'Lots of things going on around here,' he justified himself. 'Especially bad ones. There's too much flowing in my head.'

'Strange things, as well. Still can't figure why you defended me with your boss.'

Brynjolf bit his lip. Consciously or not, the Assassin was dragging him closer to the thing he had tried to not talk about with that shallow and vague excuse.

'Mercer is a good leader, but at times his pragmatism turns into stubbornness. Our line of works requires lateral thinking and creativity, whether you are infiltrating somewhere or managing the whole operation. At times he is… A bit too narrow-minded, if you ask me.'

He found the suspicious glare of the Assassin hard to confront. The man feared that he would have had to make the next move, and was unsure of what to do. He found himself stunned by that simple and yet dreadfully complex situation. He was hesitating, he was insecure in the face of someone. Bryn noticed that his anxiety came from the fact that he didn't know the Elf, and he still wanted to impress him. He was finding it very hard, however, as the Dunmer impressed him and he in turn sensed a slight esteem in the way he talked. He was flattered by it. It made clear reasoning hard.

Then, suddenly, the Assassin rose his hands. He grabbed the edge of his hood and pushed it back, making it fall on his shoulders. His bushy eyebrows and crimson eyes got lightened up a bit, his ashen-colored skin shone weakly in the moonlight; his thick and long hair fell on his shoulders, black as raven feathers. He then took off his mask, putting it on the barrel beside him. Brynjolf never would have suspected or imagined that the Assassin's face looked that way under the shadow of the hood and behind the mask. The long scar was also visible now. He inhaled deeply, both confused by the act and struck by the appearance of the Dunmer.

He, however, regained his composure rather quickly.

'Nice beard, lad.'

'Thanks, Bryn.'

'What was that all about?'

'You trust me, Brynjolf, in spite of all that happened and of the fact that we have spent less than a day together. If anyone is going to betray me, it won't be you. You wouldn't. Well, I decided that I should trust you as well. Showing my face is the biggest sign of that I could give to you. Very few people know how I look behind the shadow of the hood.'

'That's a privilege, lad. If anything, I thank you for this.'

'So… Is this truth time?'

Brynjolf put a hand on the armrest and managed to sit straight. He had been hoping for this, but he never hoped it would have happened.

'If you want, lad.'

'You do want, that's what's important.'

'How do you know?'

'The way your eyes brightened up at the sound of "truth time". It's dead giveaway about as much as "the way I walked" up in the streets.'

Brynjolf grinned at the mention. The Elf had understood perfectly what of his behavior was natural and what feigned. He truly was a born leader. He not only saved his substitutes from ruin by taking the best decisions, but he also saved them from themselves by giving what they wanted and rewarding them with what they desired most.

'Who starts?' asked Azrael.

'I'll start, if you don't mind. Mine is not a long tale.'

The Assassin cracked his neck and sat straight, patiently, with his ice-cold and focused stare. He had learned to heed well to people while completing Dark Brotherhood contracts. He had gotten good at listening to others.

'Well, lad, my life starts in the Guild and continues there. In all likelihood, it was also end here. I was brought here very young by my father. I never knew my mother. I've been in the Guild since forever, my first memories are of the Ragged Flagon and the Cistern when they were still overflowing with riches, gold and jewels. I've been a thief since I was young. First some robberies, then some pickpocketing, burglary and plunder. I showed off my abilities quickly, and as I grew up and more and more members started being younger than me, I took on the position in which you see me now. I'm not young anymore, but I'm not part of neither the old nor the new generation. Not completely. I'm content with where I am now, and the things I do. In the Guild we've all got our place, and mine suits me. That's the long and short of it. A quiet life.'

'Aside from the ten or twenty times you've risked your neck.'

'Only three. I've been quite lucky in my thieving career, and even if I still take jobs from time to time I mostly manage and organize as of late. I do miss the old days a bit, but, again, I'm fine with where I am.'

A heavy silence fell. They both knew it was Azrael's turn.

'Your turn… Lad, pardon my curiosity, but how much older than me are you?'

'You are…?'

'Almost forty.'

'Ten years, more or less.'

Brynjolf stopped, and then smirked.

'It should be you calling me a lad.'

'No, it's fine. First, I'm quite young for a Dunmer anyway. And second, "lad" gives that emotional and caring edge to the name. It suits you. Your voice is soothing, calming. Warm. That term would not complement my tone.'

'And what tone is yours?'

'Don't know. How would you describe it?'

'Well… Glacial, mocking, sarcastic, filled with resolve, a bit arrogant at times. It's the tone of a born leader.'

'A born leader?'

'Yes. A natural guide. An Alpha Wolf.'

Azrael eyes flared crimson. Brynjolf, at long last, felt satisfied. He had tried to come up with a compliment that could strike the lad, made him look at himself in a way he had never done. It was quite a high expectation and a difficult thing to accomplish, he feared that the chance would have never presented itself, but it had happened and he had done it. He felt a little bit relieved, in peace with himself for a moment, like when an important job gets done well. Brynjolf looked at the Assassin, who looked back at him.

'I'll remember that,' Azrael whispered. 'Anyway, back to the topic at hand… My fifty years of life. They have been quite tranquil until less than a year ago. I, well, went through a lot, and I'll not bore you with the whole story. Not now. I arrived to Skyrim and immediately found myself in the midst of chaos. Dragons reappearing, a civil war ravaging the land… I was lost, and I looked for reassurance. I looked far and wide, even in the Companions.'

'I take it you rejected them. I heard of some Dunmer joining them and then taking his distance from them.'

'Not before becoming their leader, though. I still have a deep distaste for them, but that's not for me to judge. They're better than me, by human standards. But never mind that. After that unfortunate encounter I did other things, and in the end I stumbled on a strange kid who asked me to murder an old hag.'

Brynjolf nodded. He knew that much, or at least suspected it. The assassin of Grelod the Kind couldn't have been anyone else, but there were no solid proofs. Now he could have got his answer. He didn't even need to ask.

'You know that?' asked Azrael, staring in his eyes.

'Well, I got very nosy when that old harridan got murdered. Maul assured me he saw a Dark Elf asking about her and entering in the Orphanage and never getting out of the front door. When I saw you coming I guessed it was you. Now I've got my confirmation. But, lad, tell me one thing. Maul also mentioned something else, about…'

'The Dark Brotherhood.'

Both the Assassin and Brynjolf turned around. Neither of them had said that. It had been old Delvin, casually strolling by and coming closer to them. The old thief took a chair near one of the beds, put it next to Brynjolf and sat in it with a nonchalance that made the other two grin.

'And from where do you come, Delvin?' asked Brynjolf.

'From the Flagon. Got tired of sitting, and sleep wouldn't come. I heard your voices and came in.'

'And the only thing you got was more sitting,' the Assassin said to the newcomer. 'By the way, remind me to organize a sneaking contest one day. Would be a tough match between you and me.'

'Only if we don't sneak up on one another,' replied the old thief, smiling spiefully. 'That time when you came here and crept up on me like a Divines-forsaken ghost you scared me so hard I wouldn't dare turn dark corners for one week.'

'Wait, you two have met before?' asked Brynjolf, slightly lost. 'How come?'

'Give him some time to talk about his Brotherhood business and all will be clear as day,' said Delvin, crossing his arms.

'I guess,' whispered the Dunmer. 'Bryn, Delvin has the right to be in our little truth time. He knows what I'm about to tell you.'

'Well, go on then, lad.'

'I joined the Brotherhood after killing Grelod. They wanted payback or whatever in blazes. I agreed, and found myself at home with them.'

'Until…' sniggered Delvin.

'Yeah,' said Azrael shaking his head as if remembering the moment as absurd, 'until I apparently became the Listener.'

'You, lad? The Listener of the Dark Brotherhood?'

'Yes, Bryn. And you might imagine what happened next, just guessing from the few things I told you before in the Ragged Flagon.'

'So the Emperor… It's true. The Brotherhood killed him.'

'It is. I killed him. Bryn, if only you could pick your jaw up the floor it would be less embarrassing.'

'Sorry, lad, it's just… Well, I had realized by now that it was not the first brave fool that had fallen into our hands, but I never suspected you to be such a big fat piece of the chessboard. Why did you and Delvin meet?'

'First time to buy an amulet of the Elder Council I got for killing the Emperor, and then to rebuild the new Sanctuary we've had to inhabit. The old one… Blew up. Let's leave it at that.'

'But, Azrael,' intervened old Delvin. 'Astrid? What 'bout her? You told me she's dead, and I see the Blade of Woe handing from your belt, but what happened?'

'She tried to betray me, and got cooked alive with the Sanctuary.'

'Yeah, I feared that. She had always been afraid of change.'

The two thieves and the Assassin halted the discussion. Brynjolf had no clue of what they had talked about for the last twenty seconds. He hadn't a clue of who this Astrid was. What he knew was that they had got an important person with them. There was definitely more to the Assassin than it met the eye, on the side of titles and connections. On the side of effectiveness and skill, his look and silence spoke for themselves.

'Fine,' said Azrael after the moment of calm. 'Enough with my journey of misery and pain. Tell me how is life in the Thieves Guild.'

'Got a member held up in jail, Maven furious 'bout the last mission we failed and five people losing themselves in romances,' summarized Delvin.

Brynjolf perceived that the Alpha Wolf sense of the Assassin would have activated now more than ever. He was with other two people, and apparently his peers. The superiority of a born leader is noticeable in his ability to lead the flow of the discussion, push on what interests him and never, ever let the talk run dry of feelings and humor.

And, punctual as he suspected, came the cynical jest.

'Five?' Azrael asked, raising an eyebrow with a feigned puzzled expression and his lips curved in a cruel smile. 'I'll not meddle, but shouldn't that be an even number?'

Despite the awfulness of the jest, both thieves laughed quietly.

'Good Gods…'

'See, Bryn? My services even include a free dose of sarcasm.'

'Noted, lad, noted.'

'Anyway, who are the brave souls that are romancing in an uneven number?'

'You enjoy human problems this much?' asked Delvin.

'No, but there are too many who cry about their own misery. So I decided it's high time someone cried, of laughter, at the misery of others. Here I am.'

'And what if all are well and good?'

'They call me "the Assassin" for a damned good reason, my kleptomaniac friends. But at this rate, I'll never know anything about your romances. So, Delvin, please enlighten me with your pointless knowledge of love stories and weird couples made of three people.'

'Well, Vipir is tryin' to convince Sapphire to come under the sheets of his bed, but has a bloody hard time doing so. Bryn here has disappeared two nights straight with Tonilia…'

'We didn't do anything,' snapped the man.

Brynjolf's angered expression melted like wax when he was the baleful sneer of the Assassin. That Elf knew better, even thought he didn't really know anything.

'Fine,' he conceded. 'We kissed once. Juts how in blazes did you understand I was lying, Azrael?'

'You've been measured and agreeable since we started talking, and all of a sudden your eyes light up with offense. Dead giveaway number three, as of today.'

'Ever had any stories with girls in your life, Azrael?' asked Delvin, shifting the focus.

'None,' answered the Assassin, lapidary. 'Couple of flirting, but never anything serious. I've lived quite secluded, the only females I interacted with for a considerable time were a friend, although practically a sister, and my adoptive daughter. So… bad luck. No funny stories from me. Come on, kleptomaniacs, I'm missing the fifth person. Who dares make the number uneven?'

'Vekel. He's the one almost officially engaged to Tonilia. Bad luck for him. Bryn always has his ways.'

'Lastly, there's old Delvin and Vex,' Brynjolf replied back, taking his revenge.

'Oh, Bryn, you know that's old,' said the old thief.

'Vex?' rejoined the Assassin. 'That fair-haired fiend that doesn't talk about anything but business?'

'Precisely.'

'Look, Azrael, that is old now. It's not…'

'Yes, as all the rejected lovers say,' sighed the Assassin. 'Until it really gets old, and the they start saying that they loved with every fiber of their bodies until the last.'

'Azrael…'

'Delvin, it's worthless. You said an embarrassing thing, and saying another won't change that. Two wrongs won't make a right, I'm afraid. You and Vex are the example.'

The old thief blushed, then bleached and then a mixture of the two. He was unsure whether the Assassin was joking or not. His weak smirk should have given it away, but it didn't. They stared at each other for some time, an embarrassed and confused gaze into a glacial stare. They continued for two seconds, then Delvin broke off and smirked, followed by Bryn. The sarcastic sneer appeared on the lips of the Assassin only a moment later.

The three laughed heartily.

Brynjolf wiped the tears from his eyes, shook his head and sighed deeply. He liked the lad.


	13. Filth everywhere

Sabjorn opened the trap and hissed with disgust. The huge rat smelt of rot. He removed it and washed the blood away from the floor, pushed the body in a corner and cleaned the trail of black blood. There were still seven to move, and the corpses to get rid of. He was in for a hard hour.

A knock on the door.

'Yes?'

The door opened and a grim looking figure walked in. Sabjorn looked as the newcomer glanced around, looking at the carcasses of the skeevers and the blood pools on the ground. The stare he gave the brewer when he rose his gaze was mocking to say the least.

'What are you gawking at?' asked Sabjorn, annoyed by the intrusion. Things were hard on their own.

'At your skeever problem. Is everything alright? ' replied the glacial voice of the figure, even though with an undertone of sarcasm.

'Are you kidding me? Look at this place. I'm supposed to be holding a tasting of the new Honningbrew Reserve for the Captain of the Guard. If he sees the Meadery in this state, I'll be ruined.'

'So you can't give me a drink right now, right?'

'Are you pulling my leg, jester? Of course I can't, look how this is! I need to clean up here and then get rid of the overgrown rats someway.'

'Listen, what if I took care of the latter?'

'Oh, really?' Sabjorn said in a mocking tone. 'And I don't suppose you'd just do it out of the kindness of your heart, would you? I hope you're not expecting to get paid until the job's done.'

'No, I am getting paid in advance. It's not a hope, it's condition. Only way I operate.'

'Oh, very well,' conceded the brewer. 'Here's half. You get the rest when the job's done. My only demand is that these vermin are permanently eliminated before my reputation is completely destroyed,' he continued, handing a coin purse to the Elf.

'And how?'

'I bought some poison. I was going to have my lazy, good-for-nothing assistant Mallus handle it, but he seems to have vanished. If you plant this in the vermin's nest, it should stop them from ever coming back.'

'You don't sound very pleased with your assistant.'

'Oh, on the contrary,' he said. Azrael immediately focused more on what the man was saying as he continued. 'Mallus is the best deal I've ever made. Lent him a bit of gold some time ago I knew he'd never be able to pay back. Nothing like free labor to make operating costs cheaper.'

 _Azura's sake, vengeance now. Damn, the people the Thieves Guild works with are human junk, from start to finish. A woman that believes herself invincible, an array of idiots that with cower at the sight of a kitchen knife and now someone that wants his employer in jail only because he was stupid enough to be tricked. The worst that could be gathered is here before me._

'Fine, then,' the Dunmer said, glacial. 'I'm off.'

'Don't come back until every one of the things are dead. Take this,' said the brewer, putting a key in the gloved hand of the Elf. 'Now… Now I've got to clean up this mess.'

 _Yes you do. Lucky me you were stupid enough to give me something in advance, because I don't think you'll be able to give me the rest. Giving me money was the equivalent of paying the assassin sent after you in a Dark Brotherhood contract. I wonder how Nazir and Babette are doing, by the way._ _Agarur_ _and_ _Aegiine_ _should be ready to start their first contracts by now._

Azrael walked right to the entering of the basement. Sabjorn was too occupied and probably too stupid to realized that the Elf should not have known where to enter the basement. The Assassin didn't think about it anymore. Half the people he had met were stupid, almost another half crazy and the remaining few the ones he could save. Too few for his tastes, but still… He walked right in the basement using the key and closed the door behind him.

* * *

It's quite pointless to follow Azrael closely as he delves into the tunnels that lead further into the earth. The small passage was not high enough for him to even stand up, and not large enough for the Frostbite spiders to get in the corridors and touch him with one… Well, one pod. He just drank one of his potions before continuing, hack feathers and mudcrab chitin, just in case a skeever bit him. He used the arrows he found on Aringoth, and disposed of overgrown rat after overgrown rat, and when they managed to come close to him they quickly tasted metal. One did literally, as he bit the pauldron of the Elf and broke all of its teeth on the thin metal plate. Some scratches did remain, though.

The corridor was full of dead skeevers and spiders. One was even hanging from above and Azrael had some fun, shooting it mid air and impaling it on the wall. The arrow was aimed to get stuck in some soft moss, and the pierced spider just hanged from it. The Assassin has never come back to check if it is still dandling there, but he sure hoped someone would one day descend into those tunnels. Whoever it was, he'd be up for a fun surprise.

All was good and well until he got to the last of the bigger hollows. It was undoubtedly where the nest of the skeevers was, and the six or so there confirmed the probability. Azrael walked into the cave, but immediately stopped upon hearing a voice.

'Other two missing…'

 _Who in Oblivion is hiding down this hole?_

There were two skeevers near the entrance, but they could not see well in the dark and the smell of the Elf was vastly covered by the stench of rot and humid. Closing his hand on the muzzle of one before dipping his blade into the cranium and squeezing the eyes out of another proved enough to get rid of them without any kind of noise. He moved ahead, thrusting one from behind and throwing a small dagger at another. There was a last one, and the man.

The Assassin stood up and walked as silently as he could towards the two. He sank the dagger in the skeever, and the animal gave a short screech of agony. The man turned immediately, but upon seeing the grim silhouette he froze with fear on the spot and backed off. When he came back from the moment of panic it was already too late. Weak streams of lightning sparkled in his hands, but before he could even raise them a blade traced a wide sweep and severed his head.

Azrael kneeled down and searched him. There were two potions hanging from his belt, one with a red fluid in it and the other with a light blue one. He took them off and attached both to the bandoliers, since they looked well-mixed. The man must have been a good alchemist, and a wizard as well. Those sparks coming out of his hands were bright, indicating the spell he was charging was of a serious magnitude. There was also a journal in the pockets of the armor, made of animal fur.

The Assassin opened it and held it with one hand, reading it as he took the pest poison with the other hand, untapped it with his teeth and poured it into the rotten straw. He kept on reading, turning pages every once in a while, until he dropped the book to the ground and incinerated it with a short stream of flames.

'Blasted lunatic.'

The way up to the boilers was not long. The key Sabjorn gave him worked, and immediately the smell of mead reached his nose. Azrael moved towards the boiler that had the Honningbrew Reserve in it and threw the tiny bit of skeever poison left. The steam sound it made was mildly satisfying. He took the key handing beside the door and got out, whistling lowly. He needed to hurry.

 _An old hag wanted a competitor ruined, the assistant of the latter helping me out for vengeance and now the brewer himself stupid enough to trust the first idiot that walks by. Such are the times._

* * *

Sabjorn looked where the Elf had disappeared. The fact that it didn't seem to bother his that his payment would have arrived after the tasting surprised him.

'You have managed decently, I see,' commented Commander Cassius.

'Yes, milord. I have done the best I could. The beasts are gone, I assure you,' replied the brewer. The Captian hadn't seen the figure, so he could pretend it was his own work. It was perfect.

'Well, now that you've taken care of your little pest problem, how about I get a taste of some of your mead?'

'Help yourself, milord. It's my finest brew yet. I call it Honningbrew Reserve. I think you'll find it quite pleasing to your palate.'

'Oh come now, this is mead, not some wine to be sipped and savored.'

Sabjorn looked with satisfaction while the commander drank, but with a little surprise once he spat all of it on the floor he had just cleaned.

'By the Eight?! What… what's in this?'

'I… I don't know. What's wrong?'

The stare the commander gave him was angered.

'You assured me this place was clean! I'll see… see to it that you remain in irons for the rest of your days!'

Meanwhile, the Assassin watched in the shadows of a corner and shook his head at such naivety.

'No, please! I don't understand…'

'Silence, idiot! I should have known better… to trust this place after it's been riddled with filth.'

'I beg you… please. This is not what it seems!'

 _You don't even know what's wrong_ , the Assassin would have liked to point out.

Commander Caius moved towards Mallus, and Azrael thanked that he did not look beyond the corner. Angered as he was, he wouldn't have noticed him, but one must never be too sure of his invincibility.

'You,' he said to the man. 'You're in charge here until I can sort this all out.'

'It will be my pleasure,' answered Mallus, in a monotone that rivaled with the one of Azrael in its own way.

'And you!' continued the Captain with his accusation, now looking at Sabjorn. 'You're coming with me to Dragonsreach. We'll see how quickly your memory clears in the city's prisons. Now move!'

'Look, I assure you this is all just a huge misunderstanding.'

'I said move!' hissed the commander, his sword drawn.

The two walked out of the meadery, Sabjorn with his gaze lowered and the Captain still angered at the apparent trick. Mallus watched and closed the door behind them, muttering a "farewell, Sabjorn" under his breath. He then looked at where Azrael had hid and awaited for him to come out.

'I don't think that could have gone any better,' he said, once Azrael had come in front of him. 'Anything you need before you head back to Riften?'

'Yes, I need to search Sabjorn's papers and get some information on the mysterious financer he sometimes mentions.'

'So, Maven wants to hunt down Sabjorn's private partner, is it? You're welcome to take a look around Sabjorn's office. He keeps most of his papers stashed in his desk. Here's the key.'

'What of this place? What will you do with it?'

'Start changing it over to the Black-Briar Meadery West as soon as possible. That was Maven's part of the deal. She's put me in charge of keeping the mead flowing, so that's exactly what I'm going to do. If you're in the area and you ever need anything fenced, you just let me know'

'One last thing,' said the Assassin, and Mallus didn't like his tone. 'That lunatic in the tunnel.'

'I thought it would be better to leave some of the details out of our previous discussion,' he said, lowering his voice. 'Didn't want to risk you walking away from the job. Besides, you've done Maven a favor getting rid of him and saved me from wasting coin hiring someone else to do it later.'

'But you are wasting coin on him. Investing, to be precise.'

'What do you mean?'

'Pay me. Now.'

Mallus froze on the spot. He would have very much liked to tell that Elf to go to Oblivion, but what could he do? Oppose him? No. Madness.

'That wasn't part of the deal,' he evaded.

'Exactly,' replied the Elf. 'Now pay me.'

'Here you are. A hundred gold.'

'You're kidding.'

'What are you talking about?'

'It was an assassination. I am thief, homicides are not my specialty,' he said, although it that was not true in the slightest. 'You made me do something that's not my responsibility. So reward and bonus for uncontrollable factors.'

'I've got a hundred and fifty gold on me.'

'Five hundred.'

Mallus bleached. He was white as a sheet of paper.

'W… What?'

'Five hundred. Do you have hearing issues?'

'I don't have that with me.'

'There's got to be in the counter or in the safe.'

'I'll never give you that.'

The Assassin sighed deeply. His eyes flared, glacially and yet threateningly.

'Listen, Mallus, you're not in the position to dictate terms. How about this? I'll clean this place of any gold contained in it, and that will be what you owe me. You so much say "no" and your head rolls on this very floor. Likewise, say a word to Maven about this and me or someone of my acquaintances will have you butchered like the daft goat you are. Have I been clear?'

'Yes, you have.'

'Pleasure doing business with you. Farewell.'

* * *

 _Sabjorn,_

 _Within the enclosed crate, you'll find the final payment.  
_ _As we discussed, Honningbrew Meadery should  
_ _n_ _ow begin brewing mead at full production.  
_ _In regards to your concerns about interference from  
_ _Maven Black-Briar, I can assure you that I'll do_ _everything  
in my power to keep her assets and her cronies_ _at bay.  
_ _This is the beginning of a long_ _and  
successful future for both of us._

Azrael rose an eyebrow and approached the city gate. He put the note away, even if he still couldn't wrap all things together. That didn't matter for the moment, he would have discussed it later with Brynjolf. He hoped Maven wouldn't have given him too much trouble about his timing. Normally, the job would have taken him at least a week. Two days going to Whiterun, one of stay to complete the task and two at least to come back. Not two nights had passed and he was already back and claiming to have done the job already. If it looked strange, it was because it was. Shadowmere was strange.

The Assassin couldn't care one bit about the problems of the Thieves Guild, but that series of issues he had been resolving was indeed quite interesting. They had no clue of who was the person that was trying to sever their ties with one of their most important clients. That person had some serious coin with him or her, was well-informed and could maintain a stream of information coming his or her way. Azrael found it most interesting because he liked to speculate, and that allowed for a lot of theory-crafting. For example, he had the instinctive suspect that the Guild's rival was woman; or even better, a female. He wasn't so sure of that person being a Nord. That strategy was very elven-looking. A human would have taken a slightly more direct approach, while one of the Beast Races would have done things differently and without so much strategy. An Altmer, A Bosmer, or a Dunmer even would have more realistically done things in the precise way that agent was doing.

Azrael gave up the reasoning as he entered the Bee and Bard. He didn't greet anyone, in fact most of the people in there made way and avoided his gaze. He continued up the stairs, and found Maven Black-Briar sitting there. Her face betrayed a good deal of anger.

'What now?' she burst. 'I gave you the task one day ago and you're back with questions?'

'No, I'm back with answers.'

'Do you think I believe that you're already done? Do you believe me so stupid?' snapped the woman, looking at the Elf with her predatory eyes. 'I should have known. Brynjolf's truly is…'

Azrael put the sheet of paper he had just read in her hands. Not too gently, either.

'Listen,' he hissed. 'I'm not one of your underlings. You know nothing of me. I've got my means, and I've got my ways. Now shut that sewer you've got for a mouth and read that. It's the only thing I've found important, aside from the letter you've sent Sabjorn. And, by the way, Mallus sends his best regards.'

That mix of insults and dead giveaways that her sinister agent had in fact done the task left her without a reply. On other occasions she would have the Dark Brotherhood called for such an offence, but that time around she was stunned by the famous "mysterious means". She read carefully the scarp of paper.

Azrael shook his head.

 _Greedy, old, stupid and clever,_ summarized the Assassin. _Damn, if I were to climb to the top of the ego of this woman I'd need to be careful. Dropping on either her courage of her intelligence would probably result in my death._


	14. Friends in high places

The two oaks were there, the small stream as well. All she needed to do was follow the small path through the two trees, and then she would have got where she wanted. Now it was time she proceed alone, and it was the point where the dangers could have began. She turned to the two guards and looked at both of them.

'You can leave me.'

'But, my Jarl…' stammered one of them. 'It's not safe. You haven't even told us what you are going to do.'

'That's my business. I said leave me. Wait for me here for a couple of minutes, then return to your posts. If I'm not back within… two hours, then come and look for me beyond this point.'

'Jarl, I will never allow…'

'That's an order. Now go. Your soon to be High Queen commands it.'

The guards casted quick glances at one another. The one that talked looked back at the woman and nodded slowly. They split, positioning on opposite sides of the small circle of trees and standing still, waiting those two minutes in which they would have needed to react fast as lightning if they so much heard a whisper.

Once the two got to their places, the woman looked in between the two oaks. She breathed deeply once and moved forward, crossing the small stream with a short leap. The air was filled with the scent of flowers, and the high wall of the city kept the wind from blowing down on them from the North. She felt the cold on her bare hands, the swashing of the stream behind her and the creaking of the branches of the trees. Right in front of her appeared a small, bright clearing. There was a rock stuck in the ground, and that prevented trees from growing there; except for a small fir, which had managed to put down roots in a hollow in the rock filled with a bit of soil. Moss covered almost the entirety of the rock.

On the stone, in one area not covered by plants, sat an Elf. A Dark Elf. One she didn't know very much but for who she cared deeply.

'Azrael!'

The Dunmer looked back at her with his crimson eyes and smiled faintly. He was playing with a small branch he had picked up from the ground. He tossed it away and crossed his fingers, putting both forearms on his legs and bending forward. His black hair fell on his chest as he cracked his neck with a grin.

'Elisif the Fair,' he said, in his cold and yet soothing tone. 'Not a bit less beautiful than she was last time.'

The rays of the Sun that got in amidst the leaves created a mixture of bright rays and dim light intertwined, which rendered the scene quite magical. Elisif, warmed by the sight of that place, ran at the Dunmer dropping all of the little caution that was still in her after having seen him. She sat just next to him and threw her arms around his neck. She was quite pleased when he slowly did the same, even if slowly and with caution. They were still at very different heights as far as social statuses were concerned, and he never forgot that.

'You actually kept your word,' she whispered, freeing him from her hug. 'I can't believe you managed.'

'I got lucky. I was on a mission that required me to come here to Solitude and thought it would have been a good idea to drop by.'

'Good you did. I have been waiting for you, although I certainly did not expect this secrecy of you. "I wait at the place beyond the oaks and the stream, just outside the city." I know it was signed with "a friend", but never I would have thought it was you.'

'You know how I am. Well, actually you don't. Not that much, anyway.'

'What have you been doing lately?'

Azrael heaved a deep sigh, his usual one that Elisif always found so enigmatic and so warming. However, the Assassin was looking at her strange acquaintance and asking himself if he was doing good or bad in doing what he was doing. Every time he looked at that young face, still untouched by the years and by remorse and yet with the strange glow in the eyes that revealed her deep sorrow, he wondered whether he should have done that or not. They were different as day and night, bright and darkness. The light skin of the woman, although Azrael found himself often calling her a girl instead of a woman, and loose chestnut hair that fell on her back gave her an innocent look that Azrael hadn't seen in someone for quite a while. He felt how different she was, and yet drawn to her. Maybe out of mere curiosity for something he no longer had.

He pondered whether to tell her the truth now and end it all, or say half of it and continue their relationship. He chose the latter.

'Stuff,' he replied. 'I've been busy with some other things, equally as secret, that require absolute concealment towards everyone not directly involved. As always…'

'I wonder if that's your trick to make me more curious every time you tell me what you've been doing. You've always been up to something, but you never tell me. I'm getting suspicious,' she smirked.

 _Good thing you're thinking that._ thought the Assassin, but he suppressed the sneer that was about to come to his lips. He wanted his faint smile to remain there exactly as it was.

'Believe me, it's not,' he tittered. 'I wouldn't keep a secret from… Well, from one of the few friends I have.'

Elisif froze for a moment. He just called her a friend. She felt flattered by that, because being such a thing to him mean the world to her. She tried to speak, but her mouth went dry all of a sudden, and seeing the tender and yet somewhat mocking grin on the Assassin's lips didn't help.

'I, well… That's nice of you.'

'Is it?' he said, still smiling. He put both hands behind his own head and leaned on the rock behind, looking at the sky. 'Anyway, I'll make it as clear as I can without mentioning anyone. Let's say I got a job for someone that requires me to talk some another someone, an Argonian apparently, that works around this city and discover something he's apparently hiding.'

'Is it Jaree-Ra?'

'No. Why?'

'He's a rogue. He stands near the Winking Skeever, always looking for someone new to aid him in his robberies.'

'And why is his head still on his shoulders?'

'Because there is no solid proof yet. I'm afraid he'll need to hire someone else and ruin some other people's lives before we can finally catch him with his hands deep in the sack.'

'Three or four hundred gold and a murderer for hire might get rid of him.'

Every time his cold and emotionless reason appeared in their conversations, she needed a moment to return back with two feet on the earth. She had always been educated to honor, integrity and justice. Her husband had died because he respected tradition and valued honor, and she hated Ulfric because he had been dishonorable in her mind. The ease with which Azrael trampled over all the things that in her education were good never ceased to amaze her.

'That would not be good,' she replied.

'Because letting people get robbed is good. Very good even.'

'Your sarcasm won't change my ideas. Without proof there's no justice, only murder.'

'Justice… A beautiful word. A pity it has no reflection in reality.'

'It has reflection in reality. Look around you, Azrael, and you'll see that we Nords strive to achieve it. That would be impossible if it didn't have a reflection.'

'Your strives do not interest me. Besides, there are Dragons on the loose and you bother with who should rule this freezing wasteland. Riding here I eyed a patrol of Stormcloaks who had run into an Imperial group. Thirty-two dead were on the ground, bloodied and with limbs sliced right off. Do you know how much men are required to take down one Dragon? Somewhere around that number, if they're good. If not, more than triple. Now please explain where in Nord logic this is reasonable.'

'It's not reasonable. It's just.'

'Great Mephala…'

Elisif froze again. She might have guessed he still held his traditions dear but she had never heard him swear that way, that same way they would do with the Divines. Sometimes she was reminded very hard that the darkly attractive individual she was facing was not a human, let alone a Nord.

'How about we change the subject? You don't seem very willing to discuss the importance of honor with me.'

'Now, that is reasonable,' smiled the Dark Elf. 'Well, since I've told you what I'm up to, tell me what have you been doing of late.'

'After we saw each other at the Embassy things went on normally. Every day General Tullius and Falk have something to argue about. I don't even know why they do that. They are not really arguing on something new, they're just dragging on old scores and mild offences.'

'Men are like that.'

'Not all of them are.'

'There are exemptions, sure,' laughed the Dunmer. 'Those who stab anyone who has offended them.'

'That's not true. You're not like that.'

'I'm not, but the temptation is always there. I sometimes yield to it, if I know I can get away with it.'

'But why?'

'Because it's fun.'

Elisif stopped yet again and wondered. It was insane for her to think that someone like him, a murderer with no real home and that kept dear his bow and dagger only, could do something for fun and be happy. He was happy, that was the point. He was not even mildly satisfied, he was fully content of his life. And his life, judging from his stories, was a bloody mess. Bloody meaning literally dripping with blood. Elisif had everything a woman could want from life. To put it very simple, she basically was a princess, and with a bit of luck soon to be queen. She was wealthy, lived in luxury, ruled the country she loved and had some of the most respectable men in Skyrim helping her. And yet, the killer with very few principles that sat next to her looked stronger and happier than her. Happiness truly was something most strange.

'Anything else happened?' asked the Dunmer.

'Nothing, really. A day of life follows another, and they often look like the same. Always the same quarrels at the court, the same things being asked by the citizen and the same complaints that arrive over and over and over again. Sometimes there are things that repeat themselves every two or three days. That's why I was waiting for you. You would have been the first strange and new thing in the whole week.'

'And you manage not to get bored? That's something.'

'It's a calm life, mine. Don't you envy me? Just… One tiny bit?'

'No,' replied Azrael, lapidary. 'Your life is static. The way you depict it is boring to say the least. I can't deny I'd probably find some fun, were I in your place, but it doesn't interest me. My life is active, fast, it doesn't require any imagination to keep it varied. In the morning I'm drinking with some acquaintances and by the evening I might have risked my neck three times. I want nothing more.'

'But you're not rich.'

'Don't care one bit. Besides, I am not poor either. And my lifestyle doesn't require that much expenses aside from drink and food.'

'And where do you rest? You don't have a home.'

'The entire world is my home. However, I do have a safe haven to come back to. I just have never told you about it nor do I have the will to.'

'But… You don't ever stop doing things. Are you not tired?'

'No, I'm not.'

'I don't understand how you manage to be so sure. I'd give up anything to change my life if your stead.'

'Well, we're equal. I'd do the same in your stead.'

'You would renounce the chance to become a king? No, don't give me that grin. I'm serious, Azrael. Answer me: If someone offered to you a chance to become a king, would you renounce it?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Because the price is too high and, unlike what you think, it has no flat value. And stop staring at me like I've just turned into a blasted Netch. As I was saying, it has not flat value. Lives, on the other hand, have a flat value. That is the thing I do. I deal with lives, either ending them or preserving them. Preserving them is satisfying, and ending them is thrilling. You feel the blood rushing in your veins and your heart beating faster.'

'Azrael…'

'If you say anything about my elven cynicism I'll never come back here.' He grinned, tittering. That was the thing that surprised her the most. The calm with which he was talking about it. He concluded, not minding her expression at all. 'And I will tell you this once, my dear girl. At the moment of the kill, you feel more alive than ever before.'

'And is that sensation worth a life?'

'Finally, a sensible question. No, it isn't. However, it's what I do. It's my job. And it's thousands of people's job as well. But there are ways and ways to do it. A soldier who rushes off into battle hoping to survive is not a good way to do it. Ending a life like I do, from the shadows, requires that little bit of creativity that gives some value even to something as cruel as taking a life. Death is an art, much like singing or painting. Some apply in it, maybe even a lot of people, but the great artists are only few. You remember the title I've given myself and that almost all other people that know me use: the Assassin. Death is my art, one I've learned well and I'm continuing to explore.'

They spent some time looking at each others eyes for a bit. Azrael looked in those eyes, blue as the Sea of Ghosts, and saw only shock. He wasn't that surprised. She had lost her husband some time before, but with time she had gone over her suffering. Instead of sinking deep into pessimism, she had backed off to her ideals. She now believed in an absolute good and an absolute evil. That was the thing he considered among the things that hinder a person's mind more than anything. However, her young face made it look so natural that it almost looked like a real conviction, an ideal she had gotten on her own. The Assassin looked at her, and a couple of times the awareness that she was truly beautiful bumped in his mind. He did not suppress it.

Elisif looked back in the red eyes of the Dark Elf. He was like no one she had ever met. He was a unique type rather than a rare one. She was always amazed by his lack of compassion or concern for others, but the part of herself that overflowed with it was actually a part of her she hated. There was a sinister and strangely enticing darkness coming out of his gaze, a mystery always appearing in front of her as soon as he started smiling. That… sneer he always had, with the extremes of his lips slightly raised and forming an arc that made it look cruel. Even the way his mouth curved revealed every bit of cynicism there was in him and every bit of the sarcasm he was going to put in his next sentence. Of all things that could be said of the Assassin, that grin was what attracted her the most. It drew her closer to him and she tried to resists, but she couldn't help it.

They were a bit like mind and heart. They work together, and well, but they never understand one another.

Azrael looked deeply in her blue eyes and repressed the urge to narrow his eyes. He was surely flattered by that faint glow he saw, but he feared for what that could become. For now, though, there was nothing to fear. She was still thinking over everything he had said, and she would have needed some time to elaborate all of that. For now, they could continue to sit in that clearing and everything would have been fine. In anything, he needed to worry for the next time they'd meet.

'When do you need to go?' he asked.

'I said two hours to the guards. We still have some time.'

'A lot of it. Just so you know, I'll remain in the city for a while after we part. That Argonian business might take some time, but I don't think you'll see me again.'

'When will you come back to me?'

'That I simply do not know. This business I'm involved with at the moment is very strict on timings, and the ones above me don't know exactly what step to take next. So… Might be a week, might be two, might be a month. Of course…' he added, smiling and sighing in fake exasperation at her expression. 'I'll try and come back as soon as I can. I will. Just nothing guaranteed on the timing.'

'You've no notion on what a woman wants, do you?' she chuckled.

'I kind of do, elven females anyway, but no matter what I never make promises I can't keep. And not for principle, only for convenience. It's a good selector, too. If you take that as it is, you're maybe worth my time. If you don't, you're not. Simple as that.'

'Have you ever known a woman well, Azrael? A human, I mean.'

'Never. I've gotten to know some, but for what they do. A thief, a huntress, an agent. One, miraculously, for a friend and ally, but never really as woman. And, don't you ever say again that I don't know what a human female wants to hear, I can say without lying one bit that you're the first in my life.'

He wouldn't have even needed to remind her to stop telling him that. She had melted at that last phrase. One way of solving things is to make the pieces fall together, while another and sometimes more effective route is to shatter the pieces into bits so tiny that they become a kind of sand that doesn't need any help to stay still. This is one way to describe what happened to Elisif in that moment, as her last defenses got shattered in splinters. When she rose her gaze again, she noticed that his smile had turned from somewhat grimly attractive to downright charming. How that could be is a mystery, but if we follow the idea Azrael had of love and affection, then it would all make sense. For him, they were both simple distortion of reality caused by a misunderstanding between the sensitive and the sensible side of the mind. From that viewpoint, it made sense. A very feet-on-the-ground sense, but a sense nonetheless.

 _Well, let's yield to another fun thing. Why not?_ he thought.

Slowly but steadily, the Assassin grabbed the woman by the shoulders, approached her to him and kissed her softly on the forehead; he then leaned right back on the rock while freeing her of his grip, but he found himself instead leaning on the rock as he intended, but with a slight thing not how he intended. Elisif had followed him down and comfortably rested her head on his shoulder, and her own shoulder on his chest.

Azrael shook his head, shifting her hair from his eyes and sighing again with fake exasperation.

'Comfortable?' he sneered.

'Quite,' she chuckled. 'Can we stay here for a bit?'

'Your wish is my command.'

She tittered. He just smiled.


	15. An old enemy

Gulum-Ei had long suspected someone from the Guild would go out and look for him. That… specific person he had dealt with, and that now seemed to have upset the Guild again, had told him that they were in a really bad spot. She claimed the shortfalls in their incomes were very high, and that his missing payments would have gone unnoticed if he could just come up with a petty excuse. He did not believe her. But, if anybody, he expected some old acquaintances to come to him. Remind him of the old days of their collaboration, of how much wealth he and the Guild had gained together. He knew that wasn't be the case anymore, and it wouldn't have been anytime soon.

Instead, they sent him that Dunmer.

The Argonian was no master-mind, as Brynjolf had told Azrael, but he wasn't stupid. He looked at that Dark Elf, and got why Brynjolf and Mercer had sent him. He was the most calm person of them all, cold and calculating. He looked like to have come barely knowing the name of the Argonian, who had quickly realized it was pure illusion. He knew lots about him, and had learned even more in the first few sentences they had exchanged. Gulum-Ei was shocked when the mysterious Dunmer bribed him for information, because he would have assumed that with a look like that he would have probably tried to threaten him. Somehow that Elf knew it was not going to work. Gulum-Ei's stubbornness had always been a problem for the Guild, since they rarely could get an advantageous agreement from him, but that time he had gotten outsmarted. They sent him someone who was damn good at reading other people, didn't lose his patience, and was very familiar with stubborn people.

Speak of the devil… Not an hour had passed that the Dunmer reappeared at the door, carrying a basket hidden under a black sheet made of cotton. It obviously held the things Gulum-Ei has asked him.

'There you go, you two-legged lizard,' he whispered, putting the thing down beside the Argonian.

'Good. Can't have the buyer getting impatient and looking elsewhere for this, can we? Here, take this. I certainly can't use it, but I suppose I need to pay you something for the goods.'

He gave back to the Elf a small satchel. He looked inside, suspicious as ever, and upon seeing the few soul gems inside rose an eyebrow.

'You're bribing me? I thought it went the other way around.'

'Not at all,' he replied, 'I consider it an investment in prolonging my life. As far as Goldenglow Estate goes, I'll tell you what I know,' he said, and the Elf sat down in front of him, his gaze cold as ice, with his usual impassible calm. Seeing no other way out of it, Gulum-Ei replied with the truth, leaving our one tiny detail only. 'I was approached by a woman who wanted me to act as the broker for something big. She flashed a bag of gold in my face and said all I had to do was pay Aringoth for the estate. I brought him the coin and walked away with her copy of the deed.'

'And what did she wanted? Did she tell you?'

'Not at all. I tend not to ask too many questions when I'm on the job. I'm sure you understand. However, I did notice she was quite angry and it was being directed at Mercer Frey,' he added, wondering if he just went a bit too far. The Dunmer pressed.

'Nothing? Not even a name?'

'In this business we rarely deal in names; our identity comes from how much coin we carry.'

The Elf shot an ice-cold glare at him. Gulum-Ei sensed a chill go down his spine, but didn't move.

'You're lying,' sentenced the Dunmer. It wasn't up for discussion, had he been talking to another person. Even Delphine might have given in, but the Argonian didn't.

'Look, that's all I know. I never promised you I'd have all the answers. Now, since our transaction is done, I'll be on my way.'

He didn't want to stay there in the company of that Dunmer a moment more. His presence only was enough to make him shiver. He quickly walked away without looking him in the eyes one time, and raced off as quickly as he could. The Dark Elf sat motionlessly at the table, playing with the satchel of soul gems he had received. His gaze was lost beyond the window, where the Argonian's face was a moment before. He didn't look upset at all about not having the information he wanted, although it was quite impossible to understand anything from looking at his face. His eyes and brows were the only thing that a man would realistically see, and despite the grim glow in his irises nothing else could give away his thoughts.

After just a minute or somewhat less he rose from the chair, adjusted the dagger on his belt and checked how many arrows were in the quiver. There were twenty-four elven arrows, the ones he crafted by himself with grey shafts and black vanes, and still two he had gotten from Aringoth. A few people on Nirn could read that in the short and yet powerful flare that shined in his irises, but if we need to summarize it with words it would be "Let the bloodbath commence" or something along those lines.

* * *

Azrael looked at the door and rose an eyebrow. So Gulum-Ei was going in the East Empire Company Warehouse. The Argonian had peacefully walked all along the city and the docks since he started stalking him. It was strange that he walked so slowly, because when he got out of the inn it was almost like he was rushing somewhere. Either he didn't expect the Dunmer to follow him, or he was confident that he would have had the better judgment not to do that. But, if not straight up underestimated, he at least misjudged the person that appeared in front of him. Only because he had been patient with him it didn't mean he was going to be patient with others, but probably he assumed as much. The Assassin had considered for just a moment that the Argonian wanted him to follow, but since he often turned around and checked if anyone was following him he discarded the idea. It wasn't likely.

He had followed him to the gate, then down the hill all the way to the stables and then lower still to the docks. Azrael looked with a sad smile at the place where he and Commander Maro had dueled and discussed. Now that some time had passed, his decision of keeping him alive seemed reasonable. The Penitus Oculatus were off his track big time, and he hadn't received news of the man for a while, which could only mean he had indeed retired. Babette had told him they would have dispatched the remaining agents within a short time, and he had no troubles believing her.

At long last Gulum-Ei had entered the East Company Warehouse and disappeared behind the door. Azrael moved forward, grabbed a couple of lockpicks and opened the door without too much problems. He made sure he was looking at the inscription over the door, and from behind no one would have suspected anything. On top of that, not one could know that the Argonian had actually locked the door behind him. That confirmed that Gulum-Ei wasn't hoping or expecting to be trailed.

The Assassin entered the Warehouse, and couldn't deny it was an impressive place. It was a huge cavern that had formed under the hills of Solitude, and there was a large opening that let the sea water flow right in. That was smart, because that allowed the boast to take refuge inside, protected from storms and waves, and inside there were no strong currents that could carry them away. The few light sources were mostly lit braziers, alongside some torches on the walls and, Azrael saw them in the distance, some people holding torches themselves. Aside from that there were also cracks in the ceiling that let through weak rays of sunlight, and the reflection on the water gave everything inside a blue tint that looked very artistic. The place was enormous, and there was a wooden platform that went all around the water and some ladders and stairs that used the rocks to create small elevated platforms.

Gulum-Ei was just ahead of him. Azrael slowly drew the dagger and moved forward.

The Argonian and his secret stalker kept walking down the wooden footbridges until the stacks of crates and barrels began to rise so high that Azrael saw an excellent chance to get a better view of the situation. He had seen a torch moving, and torches do not move by themselves. Someone has to be holding it. He quickly climbed up and followed Gulum-Ei as he walked to the other side of the obstacle, circling around and keeping to the free part of the platform.

The mercenary greeted the Argonian respectfully once he saw him. Silently, but respectfully. He moved around the crates, looking down at the entrance of the cavern and the sea beyond. He moved the torch to the right, just making sure the wood of the crates didn't catch fire.

All he heard was hushed whisper, an imperceivable noise that came from just above him. Two boots landed on his shoulders and a gloved hand touched his neck. He fell forward, helpless, without even the strength to scream. His forehead hit the ground hard and the impact alone made him faint, but that mattered little as a blade pierced one of his lungs and killed him. The Assassin quickly dragged the body in between the crates and then climbed back up, keeping a keen eye on the Argonian.

The long footbridge went all the way around the underground bay, and Gulum-Ei walked calmly across. He was thinking. For now, the Elf problem seemed to have been dismissed, and what he needed to do was raise protection against any other pressure from the Guild. Had his cooperator been right, they wouldn't have sent any other agent after him, but the tone the Dunmer had used… 'You're lying', he had said. It wasn't an opinion or a menace, it was a statement of fact. The Argonian wasn't lying, he just did not tell him the whole truth. All he left out was that small, insignificant thing that that Dark Elf wanted so much. A name. Just a name. The only thing he didn't reveal were seven letters. An insignificant thing by itself, but he knew how that name carried a heavy meaning to anyone in the Guild.

He kept on walking, quietly greeting every mercenary he encountered. He now needed to go to the back of the whole bay, all the way to the underground passage and to the grotto, and decide what to do. He could just set her up and restore his business with the Guild, but given how things were going he didn't think it was good idea. The fact alone that they found out all about Goldenglow Estate was surprising by itself. He needed to calculate and make his predictions, after which he would have really known of which side he was.

He didn't notice that the number of torches in the place had began to diminish.

* * *

Gulum-Ei finished writing and put the quill back in his pocket. He read the sheet of paper through again, and it wasn't all bad. He kept looking at it for a moment. He had written that confession before the Dunmer reached him. His worst fears had in fact become reality. He sat, looking in the dark in front of him.

'Anything else you need, Gulum-Ei?' asked the woman in steel armor beside him.

'No, thanks. That will be all for now. Start checking back on the passage, just in case someone was actually following me.'

'Yes.'

He returned to his business. His situation was very complex, as his notes always reminded him. He even had began using that hideout recently to avoid unwanted company.

Not too far from there though, just thirty or something meters left of him, unwanted company was coming to him. Silently, but it was. There was a guard on the platform just on the corner that was the man the two sides of the passage had to communicate. Suddenly the torch behind him went out and the guards in front of Gulum-Ei heard a loud splash. A body falling in the water.

'What?' asked the woman. 'Is he drunk? You, go check that out.'

Gulum-Ei looked at them and shook his head. They got an amount of coin that was enormous for what they did, and they had the courage to behave like that. The guards stood there, looking at where the torch had gone out and at their mate walking, keeping close to the water. Near the wall it was completely dark, almost nothing could be seen.

And it was exactly from the dark that suddenly blinked a flash of cold metal. The whistle of a blade. A high, penetrating scream.

'What the…'

'There!'

The three mercenaries ran beyond the corner and Gulum-Ei couldn't see what they were doing. However, he could tell by the noises and their tones that it was not good in the slightest. He got up immediately, but the key slipped from his hands. He bent down to grab it, and in the meantime continued to listen to the voices.

'Do you see anything?'

'No! What…'

The voices got covered by a scream of pain and the clear sound or a human skull breaking on a hard surface. Gulum-Ei took the key and ran at the gate, but by the time he got there two other screams had resounded in the cavern and echoed in the hollows. A splash, a scream of agony, a cry that came from the woman that stood with him not much time before, and then the soft noise of a blade getting ripped out of the flesh. The Argonian ran towards the gate, and was right about to open it, but he didn't.

An arrow hissed right above his head.

Gulum-Ei turned back as quickly as he could. The Dunmer he had seen in the city was there, and what's more he was aiming an arrow right in between his eyes.

'Now, there's no need to do anything rash…' the Argonian said, still retaining some of his stubbornness, but then dropped the resistance completely. 'This isn't as bad as it seems. I was going to tell Mercer about everything, honestly! Please… he'll have me killed!'

'Mercer doesn't have to know about it,' replied the Elf, lowering the bow but keeping the arrow nocked and his fingers ready.

'I see you wish to be reasonable. I did not misjudge you thinking you were. Listen,' he said, and it was the moment of the truth. Those seven letters e had kept secret were now going to be revealed, and probably cause a mess, 'the name of the person you want… is Karliah.'

But, to his enormous surprise, the Dunmer just rose an eyebrow at his tone.

'You say that name like I should know it.'

'Mercer never told you about her?' he gasped. 'Karliah is the thief responsible for murdering the previous Guild Master, Gallus. Now she's after Mercer.'

'And you're helping her?' the Dark Elf asked, tittering.

'Help? No, no! Look I didn't even know it was her until after she contacted me. Please, you have to believe me!'

'I do. Where is she now? What is she up to?'

'I don't know. When I asked her where she was going she just muttered "Where the end began". Here, take the Goldenglow Estate Deed as proof. And when you speak to Mercer, tell him I'm worth more to him alive. Take this, take it and bring it away,' he added taking the Goldenglow Estate Deed, which the Elf grabbed and looked while he continued. 'Consider it a gift to ensure your silence. That thing seems to be bringing me nothing but trouble anyway. Karliah didn't even want it, she wanted to keep the sale a secret. I can see how well that went.'

'Well, the Guild had a hard time getting there. By the way, what happened between me and you remains a secret.'

'Now you're speaking my language,' smirked the Argonian. 'Tell you what. If you need any stolen goods fenced, you bring them to me and I'll pay you good money for them. Consider me your new friend in the North.'

'I'll remember that.'


	16. Broken promises

'Lad! Good to see you intact!'

'Glad to see you too, Bryn. How are things?'

'Not bad, lad, not bad. Vipir ran into trouble and we had to pay a fortune to keep everyone quiet, but that's what happens these days.'

'Don't forget the guy that almost caught Sapphire in that burglary,' reminded Vex from her corner.

'Oh, aye, there's that also. But never mind all that,' said Brynjolf. 'How did things go with Gulum-Ei?'

'Interesting doesn't make it justice,' replied the Assassin. 'I'll tell you another time. Now I need to tell Mercer what I've found out. Looks like some twenty-five year old nemesis of yours is out to ruin you.'

'Twenty-five years…' muttered old Delvin from his table. 'But… That's when Gallus died.'

'What? Karliah?'

The Dunmer's eyebrows rose for a split second as his eyes flashed crimson. He gave a weak slap on Bryn's shoulder and walked ahead without saying anything more. Brynjolf realized only after that the shoulder he had slapped was the one that was injured. He smiled faintly, even after having been clued to such a terrible thing such as Karliah getting back in the action. That Dark Elf never, ever ceased to impress him.

'Bryn? But with Karliah back…'

'Yes, Delvin, that's a problem,' he concurred turning back and looking down at the tankard. 'I could have guessed. Goldenglow Estate and Honningbrew Meadery had her handprint on them, now that I think of it. I hoped she died.'

'She's a Dunmer, like your dearest Elf. They live a bloody long time.'

'I actually hoped someone had killer her, Delvin.'

'Well, that's different,' agreed the old thief.

By the time the exchange of opinion between the two thieves had ended, Azrael had reached Mercer at his desk. His face was angry and very, very disagreeable. It didn't mean anything, he always had that expression, but it didn't really satisfy Azrael to have done hard work for someone and find him looking back at him sideways. He wasn't annoyed or disappointed. In truth, he found that serious face quite funny, and at times he needed to swallow a quiet laugh. He did that only because the prospect of truly angering him seemed even more fun, and he couldn't have restrained himself at that point.

'Did Gulum-Ei give up any information on our buyer?' Mercer asked, without any greetings or anything.

'Yes, seven letters. Karliah.'

Mercer's face became even angrier and darkened suddenly.

'No, it… it can't be. I haven't heard that name in decades,' he muttered. 'This is grave news indeed, she's someone I hoped to never cross paths with again.'

'The two-legged lizard mentioned her being a murderer, but what has she done?'

'Karliah destroyed everything this Guild stood for. She murdered my predecessor in cold blood and betrayed the Guild. After we discovered what she'd done, we spent months trying to track her down, but she just vanished.'

'And why would she come back?'

'Karliah and I were like partners. I went with her on every heist. We watched each other's backs. I know her techniques, her skills. If she kills me, there'll be no one left that could possibly catch her. If only we knew where she was…'

'If you actually know her so well, you might also know where "the end began", do you?'

Mercer Frey looked the Dunmer in the eyes. His angry stare met the ice-cold glare of the Dark Elf one more time, but this time as an ally and not an enemy.

'There's only one place that could be. The place where she murdered Gallus. A ruin called Snow Veil Sanctum. We have to go out there before she disappears again.'

'We?'

'Yes, I'm going with you and together we're going to kill her. Prepare yourself and meet me at the ruins as soon as you can. We can't let her slip through our fingers.'

'Fine. See you at the Sanctum.'

'Wait, Elf,' said the man, almost cutting him off. 'One last thing. I want to be clear with you.'

Azrael bent his head slightly and put both hands on his waists. Mercer dropped trying to understand what was going through his mind, and just went down to business.

'You, the Assassin as you entitled yourself, have done more for the Guild than some have done in decades. I hate to admit it, but you've done the Goldenglow Estate job in a way that "to the letter" would be an understatement. You've done things for Maven and nearly settled all our major problems. Now, you and I are going to end this entire business we've began. The point of this is that after murdering Karliah, you are free. You'll get the position of your friend, and you'll be on your way. The Guild will not hold you and blackmail you any longer, and we'll always have a debt of gratitude to you.'

Red eyes flared.

'I'm flattered,' the Assassin sneered balefully. 'Did somebody write that down for you or was that all yours?'

Mercer ate back the groan that came up his throat. From his mouth, those words would have meant everything to any member of the Guild. He never compliment anybody of anything, and did so because he had his good reasons not to do that. However, he chose to do it with their guest in order to bring him on his side. A hole in the water. Instead of feeling rewarded or whatnot, he laughed at his face. Mercer chose to ignore his insolence, but begin to plan his revenge from that moment.

'No, it was all mine,' he simply said, in his usual tone. 'See you at Snow Veil.'

* * *

'And then concluded that "the Guild will always have a debt of gratitude to you" or something of that such.'

Old Delvin rose an eyebrow and Vex whistled shortly. Bryn looked at the Dunmer sideways with a faint smirk on his lips. It had been decades since words like that had come out of Mercer's mouth.

'Well, lad. That is quite the speech coming from him.'

'Guessed as much, but I'm not impressed,' replied Azrael, sipping from the tankard. The face mask lied on the table beside his hand. He continued: 'It seemed too controlled, even beyond your leader's style. Well, it matters little. After we killer her, I'm out of here. That's what's matters to me.'

It looked absurd and utterly ridiculous, but a heavy silence fell in the Flagon as Azrael said those words. The members of the Guild looked at each other with a mixture of embarrassment and sadness before turning their gazes again to the Dunmer, who peacefully sat at Bryn's table drinking what could have been his last tankard with them. He was outsider, a nobody to all of them except maybe Etienne, who owed him his life. In spite of that, and in spite of the fact that it had only been a week and a few days since he had joined them and killed two of them, they felt like they would have missed him.

That uncomfortable silence entertained the Assassin to no end. The silence got broken sharply by his hearty laugh, loud and lively and at the same time wicked and grim.

'Are all humans,' he said, sniggering and sighing deeply, 'insane? A Daedra-forsaken Elf kills two of your comrades, threatens you, comes to terms with you and works with you for two weeks… And you actually take a liking to him? To me? You took a liking to me, of all people.'

Nobody could really deny it. Azrael was the one Brynjolf always talked to about his troubles as of late; he was always there with his wise advise and cynical jests to give him suggestions or cheer him up. Old Delvin had finally found someone with who he could share his past associations with the Dark Brotherhood and discuss on master sneaking techniques. Vekel at last had gotten rid of the bottle of spirit he got from Morrowind and that no one there liked, and while talking to Azrael he realized he actually liked him. Vex saw in him someone with skills equal to hers, and thus was the first real friendly adversary she had found in ages. She liked the banters they had, and Azrael's witty retorts and sardonic responses made her smile a couple of times. Tonilia now had someone that was not in the hot pot of the Guild's business; someone to share gossip and discuss of life at the borders of the Guild. Etienne owed him his life, and that was enough. Vipir found him pleasant to talk to. Sapphire even let go of her severe mask a little bit while she was with him; she particularly enjoyed the short stories and tales he sometimes told her.

In the evenings, most of the members gathered in the Flagon and had their dinner and drink, discussing business, adventures of the day and just talking, spreading rumors and gossip and other thing a civilized being would do. Somewhen later, after they had finished all their individual activities, they started talking all united in a circle or sitting in chairs. Usually Brynjolf managed that discussion, as Mercer never took part in them. However, ever since after Goldenglow Estate, Azrael had become a character of ever increasing importance in those evening talks. Sneering and making the most wicked jests the Guild had heard in a long time, he managed to make everyone laugh. With time, around when he got back from Whiterun, he had started managing the talk himself. Brynjolf discovered, to his surprise, that since Azrael did the organizer those meeting had suddenly become a lot more pleasant, disciplined and relaxed. They wasted a lot less time in fights, and a lot more time in discussing business, planning heists or whatnot. And laughing. Gods, they laughed a lot. Especially at the witty and mean jokes of the Assassin. And now, all that was going away. It seemed like a broken promise.

'Yes, lad,' said Brynjolf, talking on behalf of all the Guild. As usual. 'You've actually been great company. Can't help but think of Lark and Drak, but…'

'It was worth it,' snapped Vex. 'It was so worth it.'

'Damn, Vex, you've got no respect for those two boys,' Vekel groaned back at her. 'I'd like to see what you would say if you ended up in a ditch like them.'

'She couldn't,' observed the Assassin. 'She'd be dead. Besides, what have you really lost? A Delvin Mallory that wasn't that good at sneaking, and a Vekel that decided to do the thief instead of the barkeeper. I know both Delvin and Vekel, and I assure you the world is better off with one of them only.'

Before any of them could truly digest the fiendish cynicism of that sentence, they were already bursting with laughter. As soon as an argument came up, it got dissolved in a single moment. Brynjolf looked astounded at the rest of his pals rolling on the tables laughing. He thought about that thing Azrael did, and it was the closest thing to superhuman ability he could imagine. Once they stopped laughing it was Bryn's role to resume the serious conversation, and he did as soon as he considered the moment proper.

'In any case, you've done good for the Guild and for us. We'll miss you.'

'Miss me?' he said, raising an eyebrow. 'Damn…'

'Yes, lad, we'll miss you. I don't even think you truly don't understand. You're pretending not to. You're smart enough to get the why and how we can. To everyone of us you've been pleasant company. You've cheered up everyone in here, made the tension of the later days just go away for a moment. Moreover, you gave everyone something very specific. It's what I told you that night, remember? You're a born leader, and the Guild has been searching for one for decades.'

'You're forgetting Mercer.'

'Mercer's not a true leader,' replied Brynjolf instantly, choosing his side. 'He's an experience man and a good planner, but he doesn't have the things a guide needs. When you complete a job for him he just shrugs and tosses you the coin.'

'Fine by me,' whispered Vex.

'Well, not for me!' cried Brynjolf.

'Brynjolf has a point, Vex. More than one in fact,' commented old Delvin. 'If you think of it, Mercer never really did anything else aside givin' you the coin. Think of three days ago, when Azrael stayed here the evening. I remember you two talking, and you were smirkin'. Haven't seen you do that in ages.'

'Drop it, old man. I'm not here to smirk, I'm here to become make coin.'

'Oh, come now…' he chuckled. 'You're not seriously pretending you want to spend your whole life here making coin, ain't you? Vex, you've been here long enough. The Guild is not just a criminal organization. It's a family, one that needs to be effective.'

'Delvin, those days are long gone. We're never going to resume to the wealth of that time judging from how things are going. As long as we need to get this ruin of a Guild back on its feet, we need to work, and work hard. No possible affections or anything can poke holes in that.'

'But we could climb back to even better standards,' rejoined Brynjolf. 'Those days are gone, true. Now we need to forge our own future, Vex. And we need a family to do that.'

'Bryn, will all due respect,' said Tonilia from the other side of the Flagon, 'but that is not how it's going to end. We might get old and decrepit before the Guild manages to stand up again. We might never. Don't say anything, let me finish! Your optimism on principle doesn't interest me. We can't concede us the luxury to live like a family now that the situation is so bad.'

'Even in families bonds are weakened and severed in times of need,' added Vex.

'A family, however isn't just a comparison for how the work should be done.' intervened Azrael, speaking slowly and with a cool tone. ' Just tell me of a normal day of life, Vex. In a Guild that isn't a family. Like the one we are living in, and that I'm leaving.'

'I get a job in the morning or decide I need to do that for myself. I do that. I come back. I relax a bit. I stay here seeing which mission have been done and what requests have to be fulfilled. I wait 'till evening. I count how much coin more I've got and spend it somewhere. Done. Day's good and gone.'

'What a waste,' muttered Brynjolf.

'Bryn, another word from you and I'll…'

'You'll do nothing,' the Assassin cut her off. 'Listen to me instead, it's far more constructive. I'll take your day and transform it a bit. You wake up, have breakfast at the Flagon having a friendly chat with somebody; then Brynjolf or whoever will give you your beloved job and you'd do that. Lunch, return to Guild. Rest of the time spent in counting the coin, organizing jobs or whatnot, conversing with somebody, having dinner all together, and after that reunite and do a big circle with both business and petty talk. How about that?'

'Mixing business with pleasure is always a bad idea,' she answered. Pragmatic as ever.

'That's mixing business with life,' the Elf replied back. 'And that's inevitable. What is not inevitable is how much life you put into that. So, I repeat: how about that?'

All eyes were pointed at Vex, and their gazes were uncertain. For them all a lot depended on that answer. Only the stare of the Assassin was calm, amused and with the ever-present sarcastic shade.

'Not bad, I guess,' replied Vex.

'Ton?' asked Azrael.

'That would be good. I fear it's nothing more than a dream.'

'It's not. I've been through that one time already, and it works. So? Family or swarm of money-sucking kleptomaniacs?'

'Family,' said Vex. She had a look that rarely appeared on her face. It was the expression she had when beaten in an exchange. The satisfaction of having found someone who could change something in her mind.

'Family,' said Tonilia.

The Assassin turned at the other. He needed not to speak.

'Family,' said Vekel.

'Family,' said Delvin.

'Family,' said Brynjolf.

'Family!' cried the Thieves Guild in unison.

'Remember not to show the family tree to anyone, or they'll feel the urge to cut it down,' added Azrael, causing a loud laugh to erupt from all the people around. 'A round for the Thieves Guild!'

* * *

'What will you do after Karliah is dead?'

'She's been our main problem for may months now. We never knew it 'till recently, but she might actually be behind our recent problems. Thanks to you, lad, we've caught her. Once that's done the big issues should start diminishing, and with that we can turn to rebuilding the Guild and finding the shortfalls in our incomes. Won't be an easy task, but you've done the dirty work for us. You still need to do it, in fact. We're lucky that, of all kinds of things, you are an experience murderer. Could be really useful if you end up in a confront with her.'

'Beside the fact that your skill with a blade in unmatched by most,' concurred old Delvin. 'We've seen you use the Blade of Woe when you brought Bryn here.'

'Tell me something about that fight,' said Brynjolf, happy that brought up the subject. 'I lied fainted on the floor, I don't remember anything.'

'Bloody mess, that one,' said Vex. 'You should have seen him, whirling that single blade around us like a damned hurricane. Once we tried to attack him all together. Six people. Would you believe he parried all of them and managed to counter-strike? After that we attacked him again, but nothing. Swing, hit, parry, riposte.'

'Yeah, a little storm of steel, that tall bastard,' rejoined Delvin. 'But nothin' like what happened then.'

'That's not all? Lad, you've kept something from me!' exclaimed Brynjolf.

'Where'd have been the fun in telling you?' sneered the Assassin. 'They'll tell you now, anyway. Continue, Delvin.'

'At one point, me and Azrael crossed blades,' told the old thief. 'We threatened each other, but in the end I refused to agree to him terms. He then decided enough was enough and it was then he killed Lark and Drak. He… Well…'

'He just yelled at them and pushed them backwards across the whole damned Flagon.'

'What? How?'

'You know those stories they tell you when you're young, Bryn? The Tongues? The Voice?'

'You know how to use the Voice, lad?' asked an astonished Brynjolf.

'I do,' simply answered the Assassin. 'Go on, Delvin.'

'After he shouted us back he shot Lark mid air. Drak died on impact.'

'It wasn't mid air,' pointed out Azrael. 'He had just hit the column.'

'Save the false modesty for later. It was a master-shot that one.'

The Assassin's eyes blazed red as he tittered. He checked if the blade was at the right place in his belt, the bow and the quiver securely fastened on his back. He shrugged his shoulders and brushed the dust off his cloak. The others were seated, and his towering figure loomed over everyone that had stayed in the Flagon waiting for his departure. He wasn't big, not as much as Dirge, but his presence only was imposing, and threatening. The cloak was the main thing that bolstered that feeling. The Assassin heaved a deep sigh as he looked around for the last time, checking if he had left anything there.

'Got everything?' asked Brynjolf.

'I do,' he said. 'I'm going. See you after we dispatch of Karliah.'

'See you, lad! Good travels.'

'Good luck to you, Azrael.'

'Be seeing you, Elf,' said Vex, in an oddly friendly tone.

'Take care,' said Tonilia. 'And don't get yourself killed.'

The Assassin set off. His hood and mask to cover his face, his black and crimson armor cladding him in darkness. His cloak waved behind him as he walked, and was the last thing to disappear behind the corner of the corridor leading to the Cistern. Vex lowered her head and sighed faintly, while Tonilia briefly turned her gaze away. Vekel looked at the both, and thought that Azrael would have commented with something like 'Women, always busy pretending they don't care about people and trying to convince themselves of it also.'

Brynjolf and Delvin just exchanged glanced.

'The place feels empty already, doesn't it?'

'It does, old friend. It really does,' said Brynjolf, emptying the tankard.


	17. Temporary burial

'And why are you coming from that way?' asked Mercer Frey, instead of greeting.

'Wanted to hike a bit and warm up,' replied the Assassin, glancing around at the place and then casting a derisive gaze at the thief. 'Come on, you don't even care. Anything new?'

'I've scouted the ruins and I'm certain Karliah is still inside.'

'Seen her?'

'No, I found her horse. Don't worry, I've taken care of it. She won't be using it to escape. Let's get moving, I want to catch her inside while she's distracted. Take the lead.'

'Scared to go in first?'

'I'm sorry, I was under the impression I was in charge. You're leading and I'm following. Does that seem clear to you? Just because it's you last assignment, don't use it as an excuse to do something stupid.'

'As you will, Sir Anger.'

'Pardon?'

'Nothing…' sighed the Assassin. 'Let's move.'

'Just make certain you keep your eyes open. Karliah is as sharp as a blade. The last thing I need is you blundering into a trap and warning her that we're here.'

'Unless your nemesis has some serious aces up her sleeve, she'll have a hard time impressing me.'

The two began walking down the set of stone stairs that led to the portal. Azrael covered his eyes from the snow, which the wind blew right on his face. The blizzard had been raging since he left Dawnstar that morning, and it increased in strength as time passed. The Nordic ruin was covered in snow, and the circular pit where the portal was had been already filled with a thick white blanket, so deep that the boots of Mercer and the Assassin almost disappeared at every step. The two got to the door at last, brushing the snow off their armors; Azrael first looked at the door, and then at Mercer.

The Nordic portal was made of hardened metal, as always. That one in particular was closed shut by a series of iron bars that kept the two wings from to divide. Those mechanisms were impossible to pick or sabotage, and their cogs and gears were usually quite far from any surface. Long story short, they were impossible to penetrate. The Assassin had tried two times, but he never managed, and couldn't think of anything Mercer could have got that allowed him to opened such a thing. There was no keyhole or anything like that.

In spite of that, Mercer seemed confident.

'They say that these ancient Nordic burial mounds are sometimes impenetrable,' he said. 'This one doesn't look too difficult. Quite simple really, I don't know what the fuss is about these locks. All it takes is a bit of know-how and a lot of skill.'

He approached the door, bent near it and began moving his hands and fingers, although Azrael didn't quite recognize the motions needed to pick a lock. And there was no lock entirely, so it couldn't have been. The Dunmer crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, looking at the thief as he continued that unfamiliar series of movements. He had noticed that the Guild master had talked a lot. A lot more than he usually would have done. It meant he was nervous. About what, Azrael couldn't tell. That door didn't seem to be so difficult to him. In fact, after just a few seconds, the iron bars clanged and got sucked in the mechanism above. The door was open.

'That should do it. After you.'

'It does do,' said the Elf, opening the portal with both hands. 'I hope you're going to teach me that trick one day.'

'I don't think so,' Mercer replied. 'It's a trick I guard very jealously. Gods, the stench in here... this place smells of death. Be on your guard.'

Every Nordic ruin has a corridor at the start, one that usually leads to the main rooms. Azrael made sure the dagger was at the ready, and then started advancing. The rock was old, cracked and covered in moos, but there was something strange about the place. Azrael remembered that every Nordic ruin was very hard to advance, because he needed a torch or a magic light. There, however, there was no need. As soon as the connections in his mind got to the unusual detail, he looked at the light source. A few, old candles. Very old. They couldn't have possibly remained lit for centuries if not millennia.

'Mercer, someone's been through here. Recently. The candles haven't worn off yet.'

'Karliah,' he spit. 'I wonder what she expects to find here.'

'Have you even considered,' asked the Elf, peaking into the first small room and checking if there were no Draugrs on the prowl, 'that she expected us to come here?'

'I've considered it, sure. In the end, she could have know we were going after her. It still doesn't really fit for me. I think she uses this place to hide, but I can't be sure of it.'

The first room was an ellipse, one of the classical small rooms with pillars in the middle that divided the hall in two. Braziers were lit up, another sign of someone passing through there recently. Not only passing by either. Those were stocked with coal, as if they were supposed to keep burning for quite a long time. The rest of the place was a crumbling pile of rock and cobblestone, but everything else pointed to someone having been there recently.

'Mercer, while we're at it… Tell me about this Karliah.'

'You know,' the thief replied, almost lost in memories, 'sometimes, you remind me of her. She was also a stubborn Dunmer. Always had to do everything her way…'

'She's a Dunmer?'

'Yes, she is. With that same secrecy and shadiness, caustic humor and obstinacy of yours. She didn't quite have your hideous and irritating sarcasm, and she was a bit more serious and solemn than you on the outside. However, after years of having known her, I know she resembles you a lot.'

 _So I was right after all,_ thought the Assassin. _Yeah, couldn't have been a human who made all that mess just to get revenge on someone. It had to be a Dunmer. And Mercer is saying that we're alike, pointing at things almost all Dunmer have in common. Well, lucky me. I'll be a fratricide in just a matter of hours. Sometimes life offers you strange choices._

'Funny,' muttered the Assassin. 'Go on.'

'Karliah was the best, however. Bringing more coin a in a month than some thieves heist in a year. Gallus, our former Guild master, trusted her too much and let her get too close.'

'So… They had a relationship? Or was that a means for her to get close?'

'I guess we could call it a relationship. But I believe she was softening him for the kill. Gallus called her his "little nightingale". He was absolutely smitten by her.'

'And why did she kill him?'

'Greed? Jealousy? Spite? Who can say who drove her to such an iniquitous act. But I intend to find out before she draws her last breath. Unless you have an idea?'

'Don't know. Didn't know her. I can't think of anything, since she did a thing that drove her away from the Guild. She's been fleeing for years, so whatever she planned either went terribly wrong or answered to a higher cause than herself.'

'A higher cause than herself? You mean an ideal? A thief with honor?'

'Not, a higher cause than herself, but to herself. Dark Elves are much more selfish than you humans can imagine, we rarely do something if it has no direct advantage for us. For now… Mercer, behind you.'

Those last three words were spoken with incredible calm and with a mocking tone. Mercer turned around, and wondered who he was deriding: him, or the pile of bones and rotten marrow that was walking out of the coffin. The two had reached a semi-circular room, the one that usually contained the urns and the chests with the valuables of the families. In his days off from saving himself or the world, which meant just four of five days since his arrival in Skyrim, Azrael had learned where treasure can be found and where it can't. That room was somewhere where it can, but there always were a few surprises. The Assassin and the thief were now staring at three surprises.

'Mercer, you take that one. I get the other two.'

'So it begins, huh?'

The thief saw the two empty eye sockets of the Draugr lighting up with a pale blue bright. The sword was still stuck in the decaying sinews of the undead, and Mercer took advantage of it by slashing the thing two times before it had the time to draw the blade. The two swiped, one on the torso and the other on the leg, didn't do much. The bones didn't break, and the monster quickly recovered and attacked back. Slowly, but with strength. Mercer parried with the dwarven sword he held in his right hand, and stabbed the neck of the undead with the dagger in his left hand. The Draugr freed his blade and attacked again, grazing the pauldron of the cuirass and cutting away some leather. Mercer ended by cutting off the undead's leg with a sweep of the sword and chopping the hand holding the sword, at the joint of the wrist.

'Hardly a challenge,' he said, spitting of the crumbling pile of bones and blowing off some tension.

Azrael had already downed one of the walking horrors that attacked him. It lied on the ground with all four limps severed and its color slightly lighter. The other one was tougher, and Mercer had to admit with a bit of anger that he wouldn't have been able to defeat that undead brute with ease. It wielded a big broadsword with both hands, and kept swinging forward. The reach of the blade was long, and it would have been difficult to combat it with a dagger like the Blade of Woe. Azrael played on speed rather than range, and as soon as the greatsword swung past him he dashed ahead. He severed the forearm of the Draugr, adjusted the height and direction of the swing and cut off the other hand of the undead. Bringing his left arm a bit back, he backed away from the undead and a small blaze appeared in his hand.

Mercer watched with a quiet whistle as the stream of flames burned and pulverized the helpless Draugr.

'Good,' said Mercer. 'Now let's keep moving.'

Azrael nodded and they descended into the next room. This one was a bit different, but its presence was rather obvious. Past the room with the possession, now was the room with all the coffins. This one was also illumined by a brazier, lightened up. However, as they arrived the end of the room and at the closed door. Both Azrael and Mercer sensed something wasn't right.

'The trap is set,' said the Elf.

'Yeah. Pull the chain over there and watch out of the spikes. Looks like she reset all the traps.'

Azrael waited for the man to be beside him and then pulled the chain. The sort of spiked gate wing sprang backwards towards them, but didn't catch anything. Good thing they noticed. The two urns that were hit got propelled against the wall in small pieces. The door opened and there was another corridor ahead of them. They sheathed their blades and walked quietly.

'How did Gallus die, exactly?' asked Azrael.

'Twenty-five years ago I was standing outside these very ruins, where we were some minutes ago. Gallus told me to meet here, but didn't say why. When I arrived, he stepped out of the shadows. Before he uttered a sound an arrow pierced his throat. Before I could even draw my blade a second arrow found its mark in my chest.'

'Sound just like what a Dunmer would do. So she took on both of you?'

'She was master marksman and her greatest weapon was surprise. That could tell you something of why I got so irritated when they told me you killed someone using a bow very skillfully. You just remind me of her. That time, I got lucky. She missed my heart by mere inches. I staggered away from the ruins, and my vision began to blur. It's then I realized the bitch had even poisoned her arrows. That fatigue couldn't have been the bleeding alone.'

'And Gallus? Dead on the spot, I imagine.'

'The last thing I saw was Karliah dumping his body into an opening atop of the ruins. An unceremonious end for a remarkable man. To this day, I've regretted allowing her to escape, even if it meant I died trying. I owed Gallus that much.'

Azrael, without saying a thing or providing the smallest of motivation, drew the bow and nocked an arrow. He stopped, kneeling on the ground and keeping the bow horizontally. Mercer remembered that Karliah did that same thing as well. She claimed it increased the strength of the shot. The man couldn't deny that the projectile hit the neck of the Draugr sleeping in front of them well. The bones got destroyed on impact and the undead crumbled to pieces immediately afterwards.

* * *

'Careful here. This room must be filled with those limping horrors.'

'Got that right,' said the Assassin. 'See that higher floor? They usually keep their older and most honorable ancestors in there. Older and most honorable means meaner and stronger.'

They could so much as move one step and the grave on the top of the elevation burst open. The metal cover flew aside, as a misty figure rose from the coffin. It was strangely deformed, and rose from the ground at an astonishing speed. Only after a while Mercer realized that the dark silhouette was flying and not merely standing up. Of all things, he didn't expect something like that to appear. He had no idea of what it was or how it could be faced. The horror levitated half a meter up into the air, and growled angrily as it awoke. A ragged cloak floated on its back, his face was drained of life and a nightmarish bright lit its eyes. In one hand it had a staff, in the other sparkled flames.

'What in Oblivion is this thing?' the man asked.

'Dragon Priest,' answered the Elf. 'There's volumes about them. Didn't know there was one in here. That's one tough bastard, we can't afford to face him head on. If you… That's a big ask, but if you distract him for a moment, I might be able to approach him and kill it quick.'

'You must be out of your mind,' snapped Mercer.

'Then we turn away and come back from where we came. I'm not fighting that thing without potions, information on this particular priest and at least a dozen of broad-headed arrows. Or you could go in alone, I'm not helping you. You choose.'

'Have I already told you that you remind me of Karliah way too much? Damn, things always need to be done your way. Dark Elves… Fine, tell me what to do.'

'I'm going to the other side of this small corridor, against that wall,' the Assassin explained, pointing at the base of the elevation. 'You stay here, out of his line of sight, and do some noises or whatever. You must force it to come down the stairs. As soon as it looks inside this passage, I'll kill it. Don't worry, I know how to do it.'

'Fine. Go.'

Mercer waited for Azrael to roll forward and get to the wall with just that quick move. He looked up one last time at the floating figure and cursed under his breath, backing off out of his line of fire. As soon as he lost sight of it he ducked and hit the wall with the dwarven sword. It was a muffled clang, but the magic-powered hearing of the Priest perceived it. The figure growled again, looking down but seeing nothing. Mercer repeated the movement, and the undead began floating down the stairs slowly. Azrael flattened against the wall as much as he could, breathing deeply and quietly. He saw the shape of the Dragon Priest pass next to him, surrounded by a vague circle of flames. The undead kept going forward, towards the corridor. He grinned, thinking of how much curses Mercer was sending to him. At last he found the distance suitable.

He attacked.

The Dragon Priest didn't see nor heard him jumping on him from behind. The Blade of Woe sank into its rotten vertebrae, and he couldn't turn without helping its enemy in breaking more of them. Azrael made sure to turn in a way so that the undead wouldn't spot him, while swaying the blade and cracking all the bones he found and severing every decaying sinew of the monster. The Priest swept with its staff, but missed. Azrael simply pulled the blade down, took it out and severed the head of the undead, gripping the Blade of Woe with both hands.

Mercer couldn't believe his eyes. The horror screamed loudly, let got of the staff and then began crumbling to dust. The body dissolved, turned into ashes, as streams of pure force were released from its body. Now that the binding that kept the pile of shards had broken, the power that fueled the process flowed away. A small pile of powder was all that remained after a few seconds.

'Done and done,' commented the Assassin. 'Check the elevation, Mercer. There should be some riches free for the taking. I'll go back the thing, there's something that interests me.'

The man hated how they had been together so little and the roles had been swapped over. Now Azrael was giving orders, and Mercer never found any convincing replies beside 'I'm in command'. It became so old after two or three times that he just dropped the act and allowed him to do what he wanted. After all, it worked well. With a slight sting of anger, Mercer finally realized why Brynjolf had defended that Elf with his life and his reputation alike. It was very clear that he had a very strong grasp on whoever was with him. His determination, coolness and competence combined made for a leader that knows what to do, how to do it, and doesn't lose his nerve at the first incident. Mercer gave it little thought, as he went up the stairs to find a chest full of gold and valuables as Azrael had told him. However, he couldn't help thinking that that Dunmer was the two things together that he envied or hated: he had the leadership capabilities of Gallus alongside the resolve and determination of Karliah.

While lost in thought, he looked down at Azrael. He was standing in front of a semi-circle of stone with inscription carved in the stone. Mercer looked, and guessed that must have been Dragon Tongue. No other language could have been written in such odd runes and glyphs. The Dunmer looked at it at the beginning, but then walked ahead and seemed to focus on one of a group of runes, probably one word. He touched it, passed his hand on it two times, and then stepped back. Mercer couldn't see him, but he heard him sighing deeply and raising his head a bit.

'What in blazes are you doing?' asked Mercer.

'Reading.'

'You can read that?'

'Just a few words.'

'What was that rune you touched?' the man insisted, going down the elevation and getting nearer him. 'What does it mean?'

'How to say it…' whispered the Assassin, more to himself than to Mercer. 'It's a thing you have in your hand and that is used to harm. It's not blade… It's not… Weapon. Weapon might be a decent translation.'

'And what's the point of knowing it?'

'None,' the Dunmer said, shrugging casually. He turned around. 'Come on, Karliah is not going to wait for me reading this whole inscription.'

'Stole the words right out of my mouth.'

They advanced. Azrael always walked ahead and led the way, as Mercer had told him to do. They were near the end of their journey. The Assassin knew it. That hall with the elevation was the central burial room of the whole ruin, and the main hall had to be near. Very near even. They took the corridor on the left, and the passageway was very large in comparison. As soon as they turned the corner they saw the walls covered in carvings and bas-reliefs. At the end of the passage was the door that led to the heart of the ruin.

'The Hall of Stories,' said Azrael, looking around. 'If I had more time I could tell you from where that Dragon Priest came from.'

'Fascinating, but I'm more interested in dispatching with Karliah, in you don't mind.'

'Figures.'

'How do you know all those things about Nordic ruins?'

'I sometimes do the treasure hunter in my days off. But never mind. Instead, would you mind telling me how we're going to get past the door?'

'Ah, it's one of the infamous Nordic puzzle doors. How quaint,' he said, approaching and looking at the circular portal. 'Without the matching claw, they're normally impossible to open. And since I'm certain Karliah already did away with it, we're on our own,' he continued. He then almost flattened against it and started doing the same strange motions he had been doing to open the gate of the ruin before. 'Fortunately, these doors have a weakness if you know how to exploit it,' he commented. 'Quite simple, really. Karliah's close. I'm certain of it. Now let's get moving.'

Azrael stole an amused glance at him. The portal sank in the ground as if the claw had been used. It didn't make the slightest sense whatsoever, but sometimes it's better not to ask too many questions.

The hall before them was huge. The ceiling had crumbled, and a few rays of sunlight got in the giant room. There were no braziers or torches lit, and that immediately caught the eye of the Dunmer. The snow had reached the floor, probably during the blizzard they faced outside, and there was a thin blanket on the ground. On the other side there was a set of stairs that covered the whole length of the hall, and led up to the other section. Beyond them it was completely dark.

Azrael hardly made one step before hearing the twang of a bow.

He looked forward, and saw a vague shadow kneeling down in the darkness. It was slim, very elusive. It had to be a female, and with all probability it was Karliah. The arrow that was flying towards him was made of ebony, a strong and costly projectile. The Assassin didn't panic, the arrow was aimed for his throat, it would have taken less than a moment to avoid it. He tried to shift left, and avoid the projectile that was just a few meters from him, but something resisted. A hand, placed on his shoulder, prevented him from moving. He pushed, but with that hindrance he couldn't duck fast enough. He felt the tip of the arrow sinking into his shoulder, but didn't hit any vital organs.

Nevertheless, Azrael's body quickly stopped responding.

From the wound spread a chill so biting it blocked his neck straight away. His heart missed two beats, and his lungs started moving less frequently. His chin got immobilized, he couldn't even speak or scream now, and the chill went up, reaching his eyes and freezing the pupils in position. When it reached the head his whole body got paralyzed. The legs stopped moving and remained in the exact same position in which they were, making him fall down. The arms the same, stuck in the motion to balance the jump he had tried to do. All muscles stopped responding. He didn't feel a thing.

The Assassin fell to the ground.

 _A hand… Mercer. Why? Mercer prevented me from jumping away. Why? Maybe if I didn't take it, the arrow would have hit him instead. But… That doesn't even. No. No two ways about it. He made me take the shot. He betrayed me. Damn, should have seen it coming. Well, I guess the enemy of my temporary acquaintance isn't really my friend. Why she shot me is interesting. Why she hasn't shot again is straight up beyond me. Besides, what poison is this? It's not a simple paralysis, those do not halt your senses._

All he could do was thinking and speculating. Every other thing of his body couldn't move.

Mercer Frey looked at the darkness, seeing the figure coming out of them with her bow lowered.

'Did you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade finds your heart?' he asked.

'Give me a reason to try.'

'You're a clever girl, Karliah. Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired.'

'Hm…"To ensure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies". It was the first lesson Gallus taught us.'

'You always were a quick study.'

'Not quick enough, or Gallus would still be alive.'

'Gallus had his wealth and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way.'

'Did you forget the Oath we took as Nightingales? Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods?'

'Enough of this mindless banter!' The sound of blades being drawn. 'Come, Karliah. It's time for you and Gallus to become reunited!'

Someone swallowing, and after that a voice that came from a transparent shade.

'I'm no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence. But I can promise you the next time we meet, it will be your undoing.'

Azrael felt the instinct to narrow his eyes multiple times, but could not. All he saw was Mercer walking towards him, calmly.

 _I don't feel a damn thing…_ he thought, almost with exasperation. _How in blazes is that? I could be about to die, leaving so much undone… And I don't feel anything. Damn. Oh well, let's listen to the lecture of this guy for the last time. I hope._

'How interesting. It appears Gallus's history has repeated itself. Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place. But do you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that this was all possible because of you. You, that should have been free of your debt upon retuning to the Guild. Well, I'm afraid your friend there will have no one coming for him. Such a shame. This is for Lark and Drak, who at least followed orders. Farewell. I'll be certain to give Brynjolf your regards.'

 _If only Bryn knew he would probably gut you. Boss or no boss, he would gut you. Uh, a blade. That's bad._

Mercer's dwarven sword sank in his ribcage, aiming right for the heart. It missed by inches. History was truly repeating itself. The man probably didn't notice. Azrael felt his vision blurring, although his eyes were still open.

 _Am I… dying? No, I'm not. Well, I don't feel like it. I guess we'll see, won't we?_


	18. Kinship

Light.

At first it was only a shimmering bright. All was vague, twinkling, the colors confused and the shapes blurred and indistinguishable. Light, dark. Light again, and dark. Finally, there was light once more. A strong pain came from where those bright struck his eyes. The strong rays got to his pupils, and there were lots of black lines splitting the white void in small spaces. His own eyelashes.

 _I'm not dead, then. It's something._

Slowly and gradually the other senses reactivated. The loud howl of the wind was a simple murmur at first, but then he heard the sound of the strong gusts more clearly. He smelt something in the air. Blood. And some other scent he could not recognize. A strange taste was in his mouth, like he hadn't opened it for quite a while. He sensed a hindering stillness all across his body, which prevented him from moving much more than his eyelids and fingers. Pain. First the light piercing his eyes. Immediately after a sting coming from his upper chest. Another one, stronger, from the ribcage. He felt something lying on it, a think and rough cover. Probably a bandage. After a while he felt the cold air on his forehead, and the gale touching his head. He opened his eyes, ignoring the blinding light that prevented him from seeing much.

 _Damn… Whoever saved me, he or she saw my face. Touch decision now._

The Assassin fought the rigidness in his legs and pressed strong against the ground to stand up. He got on his knees, and then raised straight with a muffled growl of pain. The two wounds in the torso hurt a bit, but they looked to have been treated with something. He touched his chin, and touched leather and metal: the face mask was still in its place. He grabbed his hood and immediately put it back on his head, making all the hair fit inside. Only then he looked around. The first thing he noticed was a figure, moving towards him.

'Easy, easy,' said the figure. Azrael looked forward astonished. It was the voice of Karliah. He could see nothing of her face, his sight was still blurred and the vast majority of the details were still only shimmering light and vague shadows, but the voice he remembered. 'You shouldn't have got up so quickly. How are you feeling?'

'Fine, my killer,' Azrael groaned, sneering. 'Didn't you just shoot me, or is it just me?'

'No, I saved your life,' replied the she-Elf, calmly. 'My arrow was tipped with a unique paralytic poison. It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out. Had I intended to kill you, we wouldn't be having this conversation.'

'You don't say…' hissed the Assassin. His vision was getting better, now she saw the first details of the face of Karliah. Her skin was definitely grey like his, although she did have the typical brownish tint of most Dunmer. 'And why save me?' he asked once the momentary headache had faded.

'My original intention was to use that arrow on Mercer, but I never had a clear shot. I made a split second decision to get you out of the way and it prevented your death. I actually hoped to still hit Mercer when you tried to duck, but he kept you from doing it.'

Azrael shook his head violently, and the blurred vision cleared significantly. He looked at the sibling in blood in front of him, who wore the Thieves Guild armor. He had guessed well thinking that her body had to be very thin. She was pretty much skin and bones, aside from the arms and the legs, which were both muscular for a small Dunmer as she was. Even given that Azrael was strangely tall, she was quite short. They weren't that close, but the Assassin bet that her head got up to his chin at most. Maybe lower. Dark hair were falling down from both side of her head, and the rest were hidden under the hood. Her eyes, which should have been red like his, were instead violet. Azrael had never seen that color in the irises of one of his kin before, and wondered how and why she had that purplish tint. Her gaze was cool, but a constant shadow lingered in the depths of her stare.

Despite all, Azrael didn't trust her.

'And why should I believe you?'

'Without the antidote I administered, you'd be as still as a statue,' she explained, calm and patient. 'I treated your wounds and didn't leave you defenseless. The poison on that arrow took me a year to perfect. I only had enough for a single shot and yet I used it on you. All I had hoped was to capture Mercer alive.'

'And why? I mean, she tricked you, but what for precisely?'

'Mercer must be brought to the Guild to answer for what he's done,' mumbled Karliah, with anger and frustration clearly nibbling at her. 'He needs to pay for Gallus's murder.'

 _Life is sometimes too strange to not laugh about it._ thought the Assassin, grinning. _Here I am, talking with the person I was ordered to kill just days ago. And the person who did, of all things, tried to kill me. He failed in doing so and now he might be deep into trouble. Daedra, he might be eating dirt already and not be aware of it yet. And the thing is that now I repaid my debt with the Guild, but I stand with its enemy… Whatever. Time will tell. Fate always runs its course. As it pleases._

'So, about that chitchat down there… was it Mercer that killed Gallus?'

'Yes.'

'Great. Just when he was beginning to come along alright. Shame. And how are you going to expose him to the Guild?'

'My purpose in using Snow Veil Sanctum to ambush Mercer wasn't simply for irony's sake,' she explained. 'Before both of you arrived, I recovered a journal from Gallus's remains. I suspect the information we need is written inside.'

 _The information you need, not "we". There's not such thing as a "we" in this moment._

'Then what? They didn't teach you to read?'

'I wish it was that simple,' she chuckled sadly, and that was her own reaction to his mock. 'The journal is written in some sort of language I've never seen before.'

'And nobody can read that?'

The violet eyes of the Dunmer flared lilac for a moment. Her fingers closed into a clenched fist.

'Enthir. Gallus's friend at the College of Winterhold. Of course… It's the only outsider Gallus trusted with the knowledge of his Nightingale identity.'

The Assassin bent his head and narrowed his eyes. That previously perfectly composed and calm Elf had began to descent into the frenzy of discovery. She was finally at a turning point in whatever she had been doing. He asked, but at that point it was for mere curiosity.

'These Nightingales again? Heard of Werewolves, but never of Werebirds.'

'There were three of us. Myself, Gallus and Mercer,' she said, already turning at her explanation and ignoring his mention of Werebirds. 'We were an anonymous splinter of the Thieves Guild. Perhaps I'll tell you more about it later. Right now, you need to head for Winterhold with the journal and get the translation. Here, take these as well, they may prove useful for your journey,' she said taking four flasks and placing them into Azrael's hands without him being able to say one thing. He only later could.

'Wait a moment…' said the Assassin. 'You go there yourself.'

'I'm afraid not,' she said, still rummaging in her bags and grabbing things she needed. 'There are preparations to make and Gallus's remains to lay to rest. I promise to join you there as soon as I can.'

Karliah froze on the spot when the hearty and grim laugh of the Assassin resounded. She turned.

'No, Karliah, you've got it all wrong. I'm not doing anything about the Guild, Gallus, Mercer, books or any other damned thing you've got on your hands. You're on your own. Thanks for the poisons, anyway. Farewell.'

'Wait!'

Azrael had made the first step away from the little camp, but stopped. He turned his head around, but just that. Karliah looked at his back with an astonished and shocked gaze. As soon as she realized that the answer was right in Winterhold, she lost herself in the thought of how to proceed. She even had an ally in that. Turns out she didn't.

'What… What do you mean?'

'I mean that I'm not staying here any longer. Is it that hard?' replied Azrael.

'But… But why? You… Where are you even going?'

'Back to the Guild.'

'Mercer will kill you! You know too much.'

'He won't. I have no intention of threatening him.'

'But the Guild is in ruins because of him!' she exclaimed, stunned. 'How could you ignore what he has done to all of your… Damn, to our friends.'

'There's not my friends.'

'But you're with them. They are your family.'

Karliah looked at the Assassin. He turned around completely, a red sparkle in his eyes. His gaze was filled with mock, but a compassionate and tender one. Karliah didn't like being pitied, but that time around and that specific glance gave her hope. She didn't know and couldn't fathom what ends that other Elf was pursuing, but she intended to find out as soon as she possibly could. All that coolness of his towards the Guild had left her quite surprised, considering that he obviously was with them. He even went on a mission with the Guild master himself, and that wasn't a thing and everyday thief does. However, it was also a murder mission, so she couldn't quite understand on which side he was. All things were quite confused, on both ends of the discussion.

'Sit down for a moment,' said the Assassin. His cold tone got to the ears of Karliah as a somewhat compulsory note, and she obeyed. Azrael sat on the stone edge of the ruin, looking straight in her eyes. 'This might be long.'

'Why don't you want to save the Guild?' she asked immediately.

'Because I'm not really a part of it. I joined it two weeks ago to repay a debt with them.'

'What did you do?'

'I killed two of them.'

Karliah remained silent. She didn't know what to say at that. He had served the Guild for two weeks after having killed two of their members? She thought that under Mercer's leadership people that would fight the Guild were killed. It didn't look like the case with the almost perfectly in health Elf in front of her. Azrael, after listening to her silence for a few moments, tittered quietly.

'Yes, I did kill two of them. Mercer wanted to kill me, figures, but Brynjolf insisted that I repaid my debt by serving the Guild. With time, Mercer assigned me the completion of… Well, your problem. If you ever wondered who was the killer who swept into Goldenglow Estate, send Sabjorn to prison and discovered your position, then you are looking at him. Azrael, the Assassin, at your service,' he introduced himself, with a mocking bow. 'Mercer made it very clear that killing you would have been my last mission, and that after that I would have been able to walk away without the Guild interfering. If I just walk back and tell Mercer I'll not say a thing, he'll allow me to walk away. I have no business with the Guild anymore. A couldn't give a damn about saving it. You understand it now?'

'Are you always that selfish?' asked Karliah. 'Do you always care about no one else beside yourself?'

Hers was a question born of curiosity, but her hatred for her own attachment to Gallus and the Guild managed to pour some poison in her tone. She had come to hate the part of her that cared so much for the world. In a twisted way of thinking, she wanted and expected others to suffer that same plight. Even suspecting that someone wasn't affected by it angered her. Not by much, but sufficiently for her lose a bit of control on her voice.

The Assassin didn't seem to care of her judgment. A grim snigger escaped his throat.

'No,' he said, 'there are things I care about. There are, and there were also. I know how it feels to lose something or someone you care for. Someone you love, even. The Guild is just something that I never really cared for. Its fate doesn't concern me. Nor does yours, for all that matters.'

'Do you not care for who you have known in the Guild?'

'I do. I liked several of them, in fact. But they are good people, and can take care of their own. If not… So be it. They've been good company. Now I need to return to the Guild to get my end of the bargain. I'll wish them well and that'll be it.'

'Listen… You are…?'

'Azrael.'

'Azrael, listen. If you don't want to help the Guild, then I personally ask you a favor. Help me, only me, solve my trouble. If you don't care about the Guild it's fine, but help me then. I saved your life. You're in debt to me now.'

'I'm not,' Azrael laughed. 'I'll never be. Myself tumbling down on the floor paralyzed was the result of your poor aiming. Had you aimed for the right guy, we wouldn't be having this problem in the first place. Don't try to trip me up with that debt thing, I'm not falling for it. You almost killed me, and saving me was the only thing to right your wrong. There's not debt here.'

'You are the only one who can help me.'

'So what?'

'Azrael, I've nowhere left to run. The Guild will be at my back from now, and Mercer might still try to kill me. This time, he might be successful. I can't risk again like this. It's true that they don't have another you to uncover my position again, but sooner or later they'll find out.'

'Heartbreaking.'

His glacial tone and grim sarcasm combined where demolishing her. How can you make someone collaborate with you when you have nothing to exploit? Karliah had been educated, and maybe spoiled, to negotiate from a position of strength. Always blackmailing someone, according on a sum to pay or threatening someone in a heist. That was negotiation that was meant to bolster the reward, not to bring someone into something with no certain gain. She looked and looked for a way, but she couldn't find one. She barely knew his name, he wasn't afraid of anything and there were no soft spots for her to exploit. Or at least she didn't know them.

'I'll give you anything you want.'

'Name it.'

She couldn't answer. He laughed.

'I wasn't born yesterday, you know?'

'I hoped… I hoped you could fall for something.'

'The things I could really want are not in your reach or possession. Whatever you can offer me, I'm not interested.'

'Azrael…'

'Stop repeating my name. It sounds like a plea. I know you're talking to me.'

'I'm not trying to use your or trick you. You don't want to accept because you think I will be the only one with a cut of the final prize. But you're mistaking. Look at me,' she said, opening her arms and symbolically exposing herself. 'I have renounced my allegiance with the Guild, escaped for twenty-five years and I have no one else to help me. Tell me, what do you see?'

'A person who is on the brink of losing everything.'

His perfect understanding of her feelings left her a bit confused. After a short moment of reorganizing her thoughts she continued.

'That is why I'm asking you for help.'

'Strange thing that you spent many people's lives, even more other people's coin and twenty-five years of your life to chase after the death of Mercer. And now this. Now you're begging be for help.'

'The only two things that the Thieves Guild hasn't taught me is facing my limits and my own conscience. My mother taught me those. She was cool and detached, like you. I envy her for that. She didn't care about the lives she ruined. Now, her lesson is mine to learn. You say I'm on the brink of losing all. Well, I really am. At times I felt like I was going to lose hope, sanity, will to live on even. Only my purpose saved me. My actions to overthrow the Guild have led to many being ruined, the ones I robbed have suffered. But you know what? I don't care anymore. As far as the twenty-five years are concerned… You know how we are, Azrael. When I've left the Guild I had already seen forty-six winters. Now I've almost seen my seventieth. Considering I'm probably leaving another two centuries, I didn't care much about all that time. Twenty-five years are nothing to the likes of us.'

That was her very last card. That came right from her heart. She had displayed and tried all her masks, all her tricks. The thief, the blackmailer, the lost girl, and now she let down the disguises. That was who she really was at the bottom of her soul. Gallus always said her that her methods were cruel, even for a thief and a burglar, and she had always tried to change herself to resemble what he wanted. Now… That was falling off. In the end, she did that for Gallus. Now he was dead. Why was she doing that? Herself? Kind of, the part of Gallus that lived in her was still disgusted by her detachment, but it was a mere illusion.

Azrael looked at her, and Karliah saw a strange glow in his eyes. The light of the Sun illumined rather clearly the strip of his face that wasn't covered, and that sparkle gave her a little hope. After a while, that glow turned from spark to fire, from fire to inferno. A red flare blazed bright in his eyes.

'Twenty-five years are nothing to the likes of us…' he repeated. 'Yes, you're right. The infamous Dunmer cynicism I always hear complains about…' he continued, looking right in the violet eyes of her sibling in blood. He looked at her, amused by something. 'Congratulations, Karliah. You found one of my weak spots. You're on the right track. Don't mess this up.'

A challenge, she realized. He was offering her a challenge. Now she knew his weak spot. He himself let her know it. It was now her job to convince him. It merely a test. The Assassin had changed his thoughts on her, and now it was time for the last step, meaning to judge her worth by himself. She breathed deeply and looked at him, but all she got back was an ice-cold glare that didn't really say anything.

'I would guess you are one to whom kin is precious,' she said, speaking slowly and looking at him, but absolutely no reaction came. 'Well, I am kin to you. This time, since I previously failed, I am not asking you a favor as a stranger who needs help. I'm asking your help as a sister in blood. A sibling that requires you help in time of need.'

'Elder sibling,' he pointed out.

'All the more a reason why you should help me. Please.'

Azrael looked at her one last time, but then briefly tittered and spoke.

'Fine, Karliah. I'll help you. I'd do anything for an elder sister.'

'You will? You promise?'

'Upon the Soul of the Black Knight.'

The two Dunmer looked at each other and laughed.


	19. Hidden in runes

'Good day, Azrael. Enthir said he sent you to Markarth. Any troubles?'

'No. Already been there.'

'Impossible.'

'It is possible. I've got… means. And ways. I'll give you a taste next time I can. So, how about the work you needed to do?'

'I've done all I could. I burned Gallus' remains and settled the last things in that place. I've sent letters to my closets contacts, thanking them. We are closer to the end than I might imagine. I can't get used to this new feeling. Fleeing has become normal.'

'Same went for me. Some time ago.'

'You'll tell me, one day. Now, how hard was your task?'

The Assassin laughed grimly and quietly. The two Dark Elves walked along the street, side by side, beneath the grey, cloudy sky.

'Where to begin…' whispered Azrael.

* * *

Enthir told him to sleep, be he refused. There just wasn't enough time to sleep in a bed at the inn. He needed to go to Markarth immediately. Time was truly at the essence. He received the information he needed about what he was searching for, and who, and mounted again. The Sun was already setting when he left Winterhold. He took the road that led to the crossroads North of Whiterun, went South, and then took the road that went through the plains and passed through Rorikstead. It was the quickest and less dangerous way to traverse the land. Aside from a small group of soldiers and a pack of wolves, which Shadowmere easily outran, he had slept. By the time he awakened they were near the city, and the Sun was peaking out from the top of the mountains already. It had been a matter of minutes before they got in sight of the City of Stone.

Two things flowed in Markarth, as a bard of the city had once put it: blood and silver. There was no shortage of both in that place. Rumors were that those Forsworn of theirs had raided some nearby villagers and mines, and all the things in that city seemed stuck. The Guards didn't react, nobody seemed really interested in solving the problem outside of the common folk, and everything that was done was hindered by another internal faction. Azrael had pondered whether or not to intercede for the poor people who were suffering from it, but the amount of intrigue, tricks and deceive involved did not inspire him one bit. A kind of decent solution would have been an investigation on who really had the city in his grasp and the proceed to rip out those weeds with their roots, killing everyone involved. Not to be excluded, but it was undoable at the moment. Avoiding troubles and killing the witnesses was the only available way. Such was life in the City of Stone.

Azrael had crossed too much hostile gazes for his taste, but there was nothing he could do about it. He just pressed forward, and got the to the Keep, where Calcelmo stayed all day long, busy with his research. A crazy old man according to many. A man trapped into a passion and that had made his passion his life, according to Azrael. Humans were all alike.

* * *

'Humans are indeed al the same, when you really think about it,' concurred Karliah.

'Some are different because we perceive them that way, but that's it. Anyway, I talked to this old wizard and he didn't really give me any trouble. He was quite surprised that I even knew something about his study into the Falmer, and absolutely dismayed when I asked the key to his laboratory.'

'What did he say?'

'He explained, or rather screamed, some things about how his work was precious and how he wouldn't have handed his discoveries to anyone. He said I didn't even understand how important it was for him, and how nobody understood its importance. He basically handed me his soft spot on a silver plate. He doesn't really have someone that has something in common with him. He feels alone and far from all the others. It's easy to exploit a soft spot like this.'

'You're truly a foe to be reckoned with. You understand a person just by talking to him or her. Saying thing to you is basically giving something away.'

'That's maybe a bit much, but yes. That's my goal. At that point, the majority of the work was done.'

* * *

'Calcelmo, listen. I don't plan on using that knowledge for my own intent, I just want to lay eyes on it. I am a great admirer of your work, you know, and it would be an honor for me to see your work. I'm asking you a favor, from student to master.'

Those words shook the conscience of the old wizard about as strongly as a catapult projectile hitting his neck. Azrael was good at offering things a person never really had or received. The sensation of frenzy and void left by the occasion of having something new and desired often led people to submit to his will. Calcelmo should have known better not to allow anyone in his museum or his laboratory, but the unknown feeling of having someone that truly cared about what he did was unexpected and unique. Had it been real, it would have been worth any price. He paid said price, but the intent on the other side wasn't real. Azrael had no intention to play a mean trick on the old man, after all he only wanted the Falmer code to decipher a specific thing. He wouldn't have spread it to the four winds. In some ways it was acceptable. But Calcelmo didn't know it and fell for it.

'You're right, forgive me. I'm not used to dealing with people who appreciate my work so much. They usually come to me seeking to exploit me and get things I have. What kind of a mentor would I be if I denied a potential student a glimpse at his master's ingenuity! Here, this key will provide access to my museum. Feel free to browse for as long as you wish. However, I must insist that my laboratory remains strictly off limits. Now, if you must go, do. I hope you enjoy touring the museum. Just don't touch anything. And be sure to buy the Falmer translation tome once it's completed!'

* * *

'He gave me no further trouble. I had to reach the museum and bring enough lockpicks to get into the Laboratory. The guards in the museum, the city guards that is, weren't that inquisitive. They asked for the key, and when I showed it to them they remained quiet. I spent a moment browsing around and looking. It was quite interesting.'

'What is there, exactly?'

'An unimaginable amount of things. Pieces of metal, scraps of dwarven steel, pieces of Dwemer machinery… You name it. I've been inside a real dwarven ruin once, and I know those are the things that still prowl inside. I tell you, they're not friendly nor easy to dispatch. All was contained in display cases made of glass, aside from the realistically impossible things to place in those. It was very interesting, I might consider bringing you there one day. When it opens.'

'Think it's worthwhile?'

'Absolutely. Not all old people are annoying. Some, like the Dwemer, are dead.'

Karliah chuckled.

'I hope you didn't mean me. Tell me why you said that only the city guards weren't inquisitive.'

'Ah, yes… Well, the mercenaries Calcelmo hired where a lot more distrusting. I resigned to… other methods.'

* * *

'Stop pestering. I have the permission of Calcelmo.'

'We're not falling for that. What do you think, genius? That we're going to let through the first idiot that says to have the mage's permission?'

'I have the key. I've already shown it to you.'

'What does it matter? There are three keys of that kind, you could have picked it from somewhere else or stole it even! You're not going to get through! Pals, grab him and bring him to the mage.'

Azrael slowly walked back, towards the wall. The mercenaries exchanged amused glances, thinking he was going back in fear, but one of them noticed that he was completely cool. His legs weren't shaking, nor his hands. He was just approaching the wall, slowly and at the same time keeping some distance from the sellswords. The officer noticed too late that where he was going was also where there was a lever Calcelmo had warned them not to touch.

The Assassin pulled it, and then nimbly rolled aside.

The spinning blades sprang out of the fissures in the floor, hissing and weaving a deadly whirl of dwarven metal that slashed away the legs of the sellswords at the height of their knees. The shock killed them, and their bodies fell again on the blades and got sliced to pieces. Azrael, far away from the rotating blades, watched as they closed and returned in the small fissures of the floor after the macabre spectacle had taken place.

'I do hope I have permission now,' he whispered. 'No objections? Thanks, see you. See you in Oblivion.'

The irony was that almost all the mercenaries Calcelmo had hired died of the same traps the mage had put to avoid thieves from entering. Killed by venomous gas, sliced by blades or burned alive. Such had been the fate of the youngest wizard that commanded the sellswords.

* * *

'That trap was ridiculous,' Azrael told. 'With one switch the rotating blades activated and the steam pipes shoot flames down in the hall. Two of the guards were killed by the flames, the last one and the wizard first incinerated and then cut alive by rotating blades. The one good side of all of this is that Calcelmo hadn't paid them yet for this month, so I kind of did a favor to him.'

'You're heartless,' chuckled Karliah.

'Look who's talking.'

'Well, I guess you have a point. And how was your trip up to the laboratory?'

'A bloody mess. I managed to get the thing Enthir asked me, although with a personal touch. Literally.'

'What do you mean?'

'I'd rather show you. Follow me.'

They went down to the cellar of the tavern, where Enthir awaited the Assassin. Karliah, after having laid Gallus body to rest and having that conversation with her younger brother in blood, felt much better. It was strange, very strange even, to have someone around that actually cares for you as a person and not as a mere pouch of coin to be used. She always liked the thrill of the heist and the excitement of haggling a reward or a price, but too much is too much. After twenty-five years she needed someone that would treat her like a person. The relationship between her and Azrael was quite strange in truth, because they barely knew each other and didn't completely relied on each other doubtlessly. It was just the natural harmony that grew when two members of the same kin met one another. It wasn't really based on trust and equality like friendship, but a bit more on tradition and habit. The thing that described them best was exactly "siblings in blood".

Enthir awaited them below.

'Back?' the Bosmer greeted him. 'And how was our friend Calcelmo?'

'Not bad. Here. This should help you with the translation.'

Karliah rose and eyebrow as Azrael handed Enthir a roll of paper with handwriting on it. She got then what the "personal touch" in a literal sense was.

'I suppose it would be inappropriate of me to ask you how you obtained it, so I won't, but it has to be quite the tale. Rubbing, eh? I expected notes.'

'Never mind.'

'Good, means it was juicy. Now, come here and wait a moment, please.'

The Bosmer walked to the table, put down the roll of paper Azrael had given him and took the journal in his hands. He occasionally compared the texts, and bit his lip a couple of times. Karliah held her breath. Twenty-five years of escape could have come down to this. A work her ally had done and that another was completing. One of the first things she had not the power to control in decades. It relieved her, but also made her nervous. Azrael sensed her tension, and slowly reached for her hand, grabbing it. The two Dark Elves remained there, holding each other's hand, and waiting for a verdict. Waiting for the truth.

'This is intriguing, but highly disturbing,' said the Bosmer at last. 'It appears that Gallus had suspicions about Mercer Frey's allegiance to the Guild for months. Gallus had begun to uncover what he calls an, I quote, "unduly lavish lifestyle replete with spending vast amounts of gold on personal pleasures", or something along those lines.'

'It's not that hard to translate from Falmer tongue, I see,' commented the Assassin.

'It's very close to other elven dialects. I bet you could understand it with this paper you gave me.'

'Does the journal say where this wealth came from?' asked Karliah, going back to the topic at hand.

'Yes… here,' continued Enthir, frowning. 'Secrets… No, secret. Ah, fine, secret treasury. Well, long story short, Gallus seems certain that Mercer had been removing funds from the Guild's treasury without anyone's knowledge. I can't understand whole phrases here right now, but it seems rather clear. '

'Anything else, Enthir? Anything about… The Nightingales,' she asked, biting her lip.

'Hmm… Yes, here it is,' answered the Bosmer, turning several pages. They were the last ones. The book, and Gallus' life, would have finished soon. 'This is… Let me see… This last pages seem to describe the failure of the Nightingales, although… It doesn't really go into any detail. Gallus also mentions his belief that Mercer desecrated something know as… Damn, it's a ancient word. Sunset Burial Place? Dusk Cemetery?'

'Twilight Sepulcher?' asked Karliah in a worried whisper, squeezing Azrael's hand even tighter.

'Yes, it could very well be.'

'Shadows preserve us… So it's true,' she said, lowly.

'I'm not familiar with the Twilight Sepulcher,' said Enthir, putting down the journal. There were no more pages left. 'What is it? What's Mercer Frey done?'

'I'm sorry Enthir, I can't say,' she replied, shaking her head. 'All that matters is that we deliver your translation to the Guild immediately. Farewell, Enthir… words can't express.'

'It's all right, Karliah. You don't have to say a word. You,' he said, pointing at Azrael. 'I want to say something to you before the two of you depart.'

Azrael let go of Karliah's hand, and gave her a slight nod. She went to the back of the room, slowly, looking at the ground as she walked. The Assassin casted a last glance at her before turning to Enthir, and thought he had done good helping her. She was broken, so exhausted and shattered that anything could have made her slip into madness at that point. She had only a thin hope, and she never let go of it. Behind that determination, cold and calculating mind and even the screen that hatred had created, she was still a fragile person. Shaken and worried. The Assassin wondered whether she would have had the strength to continue if he had rejected her and denied his help to her. He couldn't tell. At times Dunmer manage to pursue a goal out of sheer determination only, but at times. Not always. Enthis, apparently, thought kind of the same.

'Listen,' he said, like he was giving the Assassin an order, 'all I want is the truth to be revealed to the Guild. They respected Karliah, and she deserves better. Do whatever you can and I'll consider it a personal favor.'

'I will. Thanks, Enthir.'

'One more thing,' the Wood Elf interrupted him. 'If trying to rid yourself of stolen goods becomes a burden and you find yourself in Winterhold, visit me at the College. I've been known for handling item of questionable interest from time to time,' he explained, with a half-smile. 'I'll see what I can do when and if you bring me some.'

'Deal. So long.'

'Farewell.'

Azrael walked back to the other side of the room, where Karliah had stopped. She had her few bags there, and was searching one of them. The Assassin saw the dark shining of metal, but didn't comment. Karliah was probably looking for something for the journey, even though she didn't know that Azrael planned to use Shadowmere. Of course she didn't know.

'So? Preparation coming along all right?'

'Yes. We must hasten to Rifetn before Mercer manages to do anymore damage to the Guild. I'll have to ready some things before we go.'

'While you're at it, what's that pseudo Sunset Resting Place or whatnot Gallus mentioned?'

'You've come this far, so I see no harm in concealing it any longer,' she said, turning to him. 'The Twilight Sepulcher is the temple to Nocturnal. It's what the Nightingales are sworn to protect with their lives.'

'Nocturnal, Daedric Prince and sister of Azura… requires protection?'

'Everything that represents Nocturnal's influence is contained within the walls of the Sepulcher. Now it seems Mercer's broken his oath with Nocturnal and defiled the very thing he swore to protect.'

'Thieves and temples don't get along too well, know that?'

'I felt the same way when Gallus first revealed these things to me, so I don't blame you. I think given time, you'll understand what I mean.'

'If there was less mystery involved, of course I would.'

'As a Nightingale, I've been sworn to secrecy regarding the Sepulcher. I know the Guild doesn't do much to foster faith, but I'm going to have to ask that you continue to trust me.'

'Of course I will. You just can't require me to aid your cause for interest. Remember our conversation back at Snow Veil?'

'I do,' she chuckled, sadly. 'I'll not forget that very easily. I haven't had an ally like you in a long time. Too long. Now it's better if we take our way back home and discover what's Mercer been up.'

'If everything went smoothly, he should have arrived in Riften around today. We've got some time.'

'Are you thinking of something?'

'Yes.'

'Meaning?'

'Using my infamous "means" that allowed me to get to Markarth in just a day. If we set off in an hour, we'll be in Riften by midnight.'

'Then we can go in a moment. Just a last thing.'

The Dunmer drew out of one of her bags the thing that Azrael saw shining, and handed it to him. The Assassin grabbed the weapon and looked at it, impressed. It was a sword, and thin and long sword made of ebony and of perfect fabric. The edges were sharp and straight, the whole blade made of one single piece of metal crafted in a perfect symmetry on both sides. One of the hardest things in crafting a weapon was to render both edges similar, and those were the exact same. The grip was covered by a black string, soft at the touch, while the handle was big and prevented the hand from slipping past. It hard the shape of a bird, with his claws stretched forwards and the wings open at their full span. It wasn't a bird of prey either, not an eagle nor a falcon.

'A Nightingale,' whispered Azrael.

'Yes, it's the sword of the Nightingales. It's a gift, for what you've done to me,' said Karliah, stepping back a little. 'I wanted you to have it. It belonged to Gallus, but given the circumstances I think he'd approve.'

'Well, it will be put to good use.'

'If the Guild isn't willing to listen to reason, you might have to,' she said, in a grim tone.

'Azura forbid…' sighed the Dunmer. 'The thought alone of spilling the blood of those kleptomaniacs for the second times gives me the shivers.'

'Well, there's two of us,' she said, grabbing her bags and tossing them on her back. 'If you want, I'm ready.'

'Come, I'll show you. While we're going, tell me more about Gallus.'

Karliah heaved a deep sigh.

'Don't answer if you don't want.'

'I will, just give me a moment. Where to begin, it's all. He was a scholar, a master thief and a natural leader. Everyone respected him and followed him without question. It was Gallus who inducted me into the Nightingales and honed my skills to a razor sharp point. I owe everything to him. We were… very close.'

'Lovers, you mean?'

'Gallus once said he felt comfortable around me; able to let his guard down. I can't help but think that I'm responsible for what happened to him.'

'That's not an answer.'

'I know. I just…'

'It's fine. Don't you worry. I hardly need the answer from your mouth after you saying a thing like that,' he laughed.

Karliah chuckled again. Against her own will, she found herself laughing at the mockery and blunt sincerity of her brother in blood. One thought bounced around in her head, maybe inducted by the question that she had been asking herself a lot in those two minutes. Why did she feel worried about talking about Gallus? She never had been for the past twenty-five years. Was it because she just saw his remains? No, now she knew. It's that Azrael reminded her very strongly of Gallus. If the Nord grave tone he had and that she loved so much had been switched over with the sardonic one of Azrael, they would have been very near to be similar people.

Symbolically, it seemed an avatar of Gallus had come back to avenge him.


	20. Thief among Thieves

'Fine, there… Off you go.'

Karliah jumped off Shadowmere's back and landed on both feet, although dangerously close to falling over. Azrael grabbed the horse's hair and jumped down himself, landing on both feet also but in perfect balance. Karliah sighed, and thought it only came with experience. That huge horse-shaped daemon didn't really look like the animal of which you gracefully pull the reins in order for it to slow and stop. It did, however, really look like an animal that fitted and complemented her brother in blood very well. The colors of her fur and of and hair almost perfectly matched the ones on the Assassin's armor.

'Here we are. At midnight, as promised,' declared the Assassin, in a mockingly solemn tone. 'Told you that beast was quick.'

'Nightmarishly so,' she concurred. 'I have never seen anything else like that in my life.'

'There's always a first time, my dear. Now, we'll get into the Guild by the sewers, as I have mentioned… Shadowmere, you stay there and quiet!' he said to the horse, breaking off, and then continued. 'So… Sewers, right. That way we can get in unnoticed and without going through the Ratway or the Cistern. We basically reduce the chances of finding someone. This way.'

The Assassin grabbed the first small plank of wood of the platform that was suspended above the water, and then the ledge. The climb began. The sewers that connected to the Ratway and the Flagon were the easiest ways to get in unnoticed, and he already had had a taste when meeting Delvin. He knew how they stretched under the streets, and where they ended. The climb to the entrance was but a small annoyance. Karliah kept his pace very well, and after just a minute they were already relatively near.

'Is it far?' she asked.

'Not very, we're past the first half. By the way, you choose between climbing of wooden walls or swimming.'

'Climbing on wooden walls.'

'Wise lass.'

'That sounds very Brynjolf, you know?'

'Daedric Princes… Karliah made a joke,' he laughed, with fake surprise that sounded awfully ironic. 'I didn't think you were able to make one.'

'I am while in your company, it seems.'

'You know, I have a friend… Damn,' he said, losing his grip on a vertical plank and almost falling into the water. He began again after he was stable again. 'Well, it's the friend that drove me into the mess with the Guild. She was a human, so stubborn and with such intricate paranoia complexes you couldn't imagine. She also was able to make jests only in my presence.'

'Gallus couldn't do this.'

'Just give it a rest…' tittered the Assassin. 'You've been comparing me to Gallus for the whole journey. I get it. It's similar to me, but not elvenly cynical and not elvenly sarcastic. That's it.'

'You're more alike than you think.'

'We were, rather. He's dead. And drop the comparisons. Wouldn't want you to have a killer lapse and call me "love" any of these days.'

'That won't happen, that much I can assure you.'

'Know what? After we're done with the Guild and Mercer rests peacefully in an never-ending sleep, we should plan a heist together or something.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Because, just like I'm similar to Gallus, you're like that other friend of mine I told you about. Under that mask of duty, hatred and whatever other nonsense that keeps your head intact, you are a very friendly and agreeable person.'

'Fine, I'm up for that. What do you mean for "agreeable" anyway?'

'A person who agrees with me, obviously.'

Karliah still couldn't help but chuckle. He said every single jest with a voice so cold and so controlled that the clash between the mocking content of the sentence and the serious tone in his voice resulted in some hilarious sentences. And while we're on that, we should be aware that some claim that our mind does things on its own accord just to create situation that we would like to see. That interpretation could be interesting if looking at the next thing that happened to Karliah. She grabbed on to a small plank and tried to put her feet in a hole in the straw, but slipped and was about to fall.

'Azrael!'

The Assassin bent down and grabbed her hand with a split-second reaction. He held her just with one arm, and realized she was very light in addition to being small. The two kind of go together, but he never actually gave any thought at her weight. Azrael was almost sure a small grin blinked on Karliah's lips before she grabbed the wood planks again.

'See?' she sniggered. 'If you were Gallus, I would have taken my time to say how much I loved you and how much I wanted to have a little cross-breed with you,' she explained, jumping on the hold Azrael had just let go of. 'With you, I don't. I really, really don't.'

Azrael gave a grim laugh. He gripped the sewer ledge and slipped into it, waiting for Karliah and then checking if someone had followed them. They were almost there.

* * *

'Here we are.'

'This is the Flagon.'

'Indeed. Come, before people here start suspecting something.'

'Azrael, this place is empty.'

'No, it isn't.'

'I mean, I see those people here. But the others?'

'No clue. I can't see through walls. Maybe they're in the Cistern.'

'Then we've got to hurry. We need to keep our eyes open. Nobody knows what awaits us in the Cistern.'

The Dunmer cladded in black, with his long cloak waving behind him, and the other Dunmer, donning the Thieves Guild armor and walking nimbly alongside him, pressed forward. Karliah casted a quick glance at her ally's face, and that alone calmed her. In the dim light the shadow of the hood was even deeper, and his eyes blazed brightly in the dark. His every movement gave away his confidence and ever-present awareness. His arms dangled beside him, but the muscles were tense, ready to dart at the first sign of a threat. The fact that she needed to look way up the height of her head amused her a little.

'What… You?' mumbled a puzzled Dirge as he saw the Assassin coming.

'Yes, Dirge it's me. Out of my way. We're in a hurry.'

'Azrael?' asked Tonilia, not a bit less shocked than her huge colleague. 'You… I thought you died.'

 _Why does history always repeat itself? Those words were Commander Maro's, and I'd much preferred they remained such._

'Think what you will,' Azrael replied, lapidary. 'Where's Bryn?'

'In the Cistern. Who is this Elf that's with you?'

'Not your concern. Not yet.'

Karliah remained silent for the entire duration of the brief chat. She was amazed by how much influence Azrael had over those people, who didn't even bother to question him further and apparently trusted him immediately. Dirge, who was taller even then him, just backed off and let him pass. The Assassin covered Karliah with his own body as much as he could, deflecting all suspicious glances that were directed at her. Vekel, who tried to bend his head and take a look at her face got deterred by the ice-cold glare the Assassin shot at him. It melt through his soul. Azrael did not stop, letting Karliah go first in the small corridor that led right to the Cistern and covering her back, casting a last glance at the three people he left behind. He was sure that they would have never tried to betray him. He gained that much in the two weeks of stay.

'Ready?' asked Karliah, her hand already on the doorknob.

'Ready,' sighed Azrael, taking off his face mask.

She opened the door, and surprise surprise, Brynjolf was in front of them with Vex and Dlvin by his side. They had their sword drawn, and were facing them. Reason and method unknown, but they knew they were coming. Maybe Mercer told them that Karliah would come, but that didn't quite fit since Mercer believed Azrael to be dead and Karliah to be still on the run. The Assassin didn't give it too much thought. After all, he would have needed to look for those three anyway. Karliah approached the three and Azrael calmly closed the door.

'You better have a damn good reason to be here with that murderer,' Brynjolf greeted him.

'I do,' answered the Assassin, calmly. 'Don't trust your good-old, so-called "Alpha Wolf" anymore?'

'I trusted him when he didn't collaborate with murderers.'

'Really? You're up for a surprise. Now drop the manly and heroic act and let Karliah explain.'

'Don't try to trip me up, lad,' groaned Brynjolf, putting the sword forward towards him.

'Please, lower your weapon,' intervened Karliah, in her faint voice. 'I have proof that you've all been misled!'

'I should believe her? Last time she got close to someone she killed him! Tell me, lad, explain this to me!'

'Nothing to explain, Bryn. Let her explain or…'

'Or what, you'll threaten us to kill us all? Again?'

'Please, don't,' sighed Azrael, and his sardonic tone revived the sting in Brynjolf's throat. While facing him, the arrogance of the Assassin was hard to swallow. 'Don't make me do that again.'

'Because? Because this time you'd lose?'

'No. Bryn, you know me. I would feel one thing if I needed to cut you all down.'

'Indifference?'

'No. Exasperation.'

That phrase halted the conversation and made all bad feelings go back to normal. The talk was reset. Brynjolf pulled his sword away, exchanged a quick glance with Delvin and then with Vex. Both were hesitant. Despite everything, the two Elves did indeed seem to be wanting to talk and not to kill. And, somewhere within them, the voice of conscience told them to trust the Assassin. Azrael, however, elaborated, seeing that they needed a little bit more convincing.

'Brynjolf, don't. You took me for a fool once, and regretted that decision. Don't do it again.'

'All right,' conceded the man, clenching his teeth. 'No tricks, Karliah or I'll cut you down where you stand. Now what's this so-called proof you speak of?'

'I have Gallus's journal. I think you'll find its contents… disturbing.'

'Let me see, then,' said Brynjolf. In the philosophy of "points of no return", that was definitely one of them. Karliah walked near him and handed him the handwritten sheets, alongside the original journal just to be sure. Brynjolf frowned looking at the Falmer runes, but then realized that was good proof. No one other than Gallus would have done something like that. Just for assurance, he casted a quick glance at the Dunmer, who caught his gaze and gave him a slight nod in confirmation. An Alpha and his Beta always understand each other, and in times of need there are no lies between them.

'Now, Azrael, just give me your explanation of how you're here,' said Delvin.

'Mercer put any "he died horribly" nonsense in your heads already?' he asked, sighing deeply.

'Pretty much,' the old thief replied. Meanwhile, Brynjolf read. Karliah stood close to him, just in case he misread something. The Assassin knew he was safe, and went a bit closer to them.

'Well, I survived thanks to a mixture Karliah forced to take.'

'Forced you? How?'

'An arrow to the chest,' she replied, cool and without taking her eyes off the book.

'She shot you? And you trusted her?' snapped Vex. 'Why should I believe you?'

'Because it's the truth. But that is irrelevant at the moment. What matters is that, after the fact, Mercer tried to dispatch of me and thrust his sword into my ribcage. Lucky thing that famous mixture prevented me from bleeding to my death.'

'Mercer tried to kill you?'

'Yes.'

'Don't believe it one bit,' said Delvin, shaking his head.

'You'll believe it after you've read this thing,' replied Brynjolf, turning a page. 'The lass warned me it was disturbing, but that is a damned understatement.'

Delvin didn't know what to reply. He knew that Brynjolf trusted the Dunmer, maybe a bit too much, be he did too. After all, although he had pretty much no principles, he certainly had standards. Professionals always have standards. He couldn't help but believe him just the one tiny bit that allowed him to consider that Mercer was actually the villain of that story. The old thief raised his gaze, maybe hoping to find something that could have convinced him otherwise. The ice-cold glare the Assassin gave back at him further only served the purpose of strengthening his fears about their Guild Master.

'If what you say it's true, that'd be unbelievable,' he said. 'Damn, you've escaped certain doom when with our murderous friends of the Brotherhood and now you've done it again. You're a breathin' ghost, that's what you are.'

'Things always come when you least expect them,' Azrael replied, cryptic. A flash blazed in his eyes. Delvin caught the meaning; the joke too.

'Yeah, death,' he said. 'You expect it every moment, so it won't come.'

'Bravo,' the Assassin complemented.

'I don't get why we're trusting him,' said Vex, raising her dagger and pointing it at Azrael. 'He's just deceiving us.'

'What makes you think that?' the Assassin asked.

'Mercer told us for years that things aren't like what you claim.'

'Mercer opinion, then… In that case, how do you explain me living? I should be dead, if Mercer's always right. Bryn…' the Dunmer added, looking at the horrified face of the man. 'What are you reading? Something highly disturbing, I presume.'

'It… It can't be,' he muttered. 'I've known Mercer too long.'

'It's true, Brynjolf. Every word,' intervened Karliah, her voice always faint and shrill, but her tone grave and serious. 'Mercer's been stealing from the Guild for years, right under your noses.'

'There's only one way to find out if what the lass says is true,' said Brynjolf, closing the journal and giving it back to Karliah, and then turned to Delvin. 'Delvin, I'll need you to open the Vault.'

Azrael was the first one to move, and with just two long steps he was in the front of the group, taking the lead as the others followed him. Karliah went by his side, while Brynjolf visibly awaited for him to go first. Delvin and Vex followed right behind, and immediately mauled Brynjolf with questions.

'Wait just a blessed moment, Bryn,' said the old thief. 'What's in that book? What did it say?'

'It says Mercer's been stealing from our vault for years. Gallus was looking into it before he was murdered.'

'How can Mercer open up a vault that needs two keys? It's impossible. Could he pick his way in?' Delvin insisted.

Azrael noticed a strange expression appearing on Karliah's face. Her violet eyes sparkled lilac for a moment. She looked down at the ground for a moment, breathed deeply and then raised her gaze again. Azrael went closer to her and elbowed her, almost playfully. She looked at him and smiled, after which she turned and continued listening to the conversation of her old colleagues, with one small weight down her shoulder. The Assassin was there precisely to protect her and help her.

'That door has the best puzzle locks money can buy,' Vex had replied in the meantime. 'There's no way it can be picked open.'

'He didn't need to pick the lock,' said Karliah, cryptically.

The four thieves and the one, almost out of place, Assassin, arrived at the vault. Karliah leaned on the edge of the door to the vault and Azrael stood right beside her, staring back at the three others. Of all three, Delvin was the one most intrigued and confused by Karliah's implication.

'What's she on abou'?'

'Use your key on the vault, Delvin,' replied Brynjolf, avoiding any talk and choosing action. 'We'll open it up and find out the truth.'

Delvin went near the door and covered the sight with his arm. Azrael casted a quick glance at Karliah, who shook her head, foreseeing the outcome of that act. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Something sprang, but the door didn't budge nor move of an inch. Delvin tried to open it, but with no luck. Karliah sighed again, and leaned her shoulders against Azrael's. Well, against his arm to be precise. Their shoulders were at quite different heights.

'I've used my key, but the vault's still locked up tighter than a drum,' Delvin informed his mates, giving up. 'Now use yours.'

'Is this the secret stolen from that Twilight Sepulcher?' whispered Azrael in Karliah's ear.

'Yes,' she answered. 'I take it you've seen Mercer using this trick before, have you?'

'Smart girl. Yeah, used it to open the door that stood closed in our way in Snow Veil.'

'So that's how you got in.'

'Exactly. Used his special door-opening abilities to get in,' Azrael tittered, while Brynjolf slowly walked towards the door and used his own key.

The mechanism sprang again, this time twice, and the door opened wide with a single movement. It would be impossible to describe the exact expression of astonishment, anger and outright disbelief that got painted on the thieves' faces as they looked inside. Even Karliah, who had a slightly knowing and ironic grin on her face, scratched those away at the sight of the Guild's vault. Azrael looked inside, and didn't really understand at first what was so special about that. It was, quite simply, and empty room.

'By the Eight!' screamed Brynjolf, running in and looking frantically around like a madman. 'It's gone, everything's gone! Get in here, all of you!'

They all entered the room, and Azrael began to understand that it was suppose to be overflowing with coin and riches. Looking at the line of open and empty chests wasn't that much of an unknown sight for a treasure hunter for passion, but maybe to a thief who's used to seeing them full… Maybe it's a bit harsher. Judging from the face of his friends, a lot harsher than he thought. Karliah looked around and gasped for the second time. She stole a worried glance at the Assassin.

'I didn't actually think he'd rob the Guild this badly.'

'You always tend to underestimate his crimes,' commented the Assassin, glacial.

'Yes, for old time's sake. I'll try and do that no longer, because it's only leading me to bad surprises.'

'The gold, the jewels…' Delvin mumbled in the meantime. 'It's all gone!'

'That son of a bitch! I'll kill him!' growled Vex, stomping the ground.

Azrael narrowed his eyes, saying to himself that stomping stone bricks didn't really help them resolve their problems. Meanwhile, he looked at the spectators that were gathering outside of the vault. The members of the Thieves Guild were all there, shifting their gazes from him back to Bynjolf and the empty vault. The Assassin presumed that many of them had never seen the vault inside, and were wondering simply what it looked like. Instead, they found a bad surprise mixed with some human anger. Both Azrael and Karliah decided to wait 'till their feeling cooled down on her own. Trying to intervene would have been meant mindlessly putting the boot in.

'Vex! Put it away… right now.' said Brynjolf, truing to calm her but visibly trying to get himself together too. 'We can't afford to lose our heads… we need to calm down and focus.'

 _The first sensible thing they've said since they entered here,_ thought the Assassin.

'Do what he says, Vex.' Delvin insisted at her persistence in just groaning. 'This isn't helpin' right now.'

'Fine,' she muttered, her teeth clenched. 'We do it your way. For now.'

'Delvin, Vex, watch the Flagon,' ordered Brynjolf. 'If you see Mercer, come tell me right away.'

'But Bryn…'

'Do as he says.'

Delvin, Vex, Brynjolf and even Karliah turned and looked at Azrael. That last sentence had come from him. It had cut off Delvin's observation without too many scruples, and had such an impact on the four that they all remained silent. It had been a firm command. The deep voice, glacial note and dead serious tone saying out loud that it wasn't up for discussion, under any circumstances. Strange, but even after having questioned Brynjolf's order, they obeyed Azrael's one without batting an eye. The Assassin gave them reassuring glances and a last, grim grin before turning to Brynjolf once again.

'I didn't exactly give you permission to give orders in my stead, lad,' he said.

'Funny. You told me I was the Alpha Wolf in here. Karliah,' he said, turning towards her, 'leave the males alone. I feel like our friend here has something private to discuss with me.'

'I'll see you in the Flagon, should you need any help.'

She walked off, and only after she was out of earshot Brynjolf started talking again. Azrael was quite amazed by that sudden change in the man. Immediately after action had broke out, a hidden reserve of energy had caused an outburst in his soul. His will to do things had almost become a frenzy, and the Assassin found himself wondering from where he could take all that strength. Nevertheless, Bryn was tense. His auburn, kind of, hair were ruffled, his face tense and his green eyes were glittering with all the energy that the series of events had waken.

'I'll never understand how you read my mind, lad, but never mind that. Look, before I do anything else I need to know with who you stand. I seem to recall your affairs with the Guild being done.'

'Yes, but I promised Karliah my aid. If you need help with tracking Mercer Frey, count me in. I've a decent experience a tracking people down.'

'Don't doubt that one bit. Listen, before I have you help track Mercer down, I need to what you learned from Karliah. I mean everything.'

'Well, there's lots to tell,' sighed the Assassin, arching an eyebrow. 'But I suppose a good leader doesn't hold secrets from his most trusted second in command.' That was a tactical phrase. He felt a bit relieved after seeing Brynjolf blushing ever so slightly, pointing that the sentence had hit the soft spot. 'I'll start with the simplest. You'll have realized by now that Mercer killed Gallus, not Karliah.'

'Aye, I feared that was the case. From that last entry in Gallus' diary it looked like he was close to exposing Mercer to the Guild. Anything else?'

'Yeah… Almost as obviously, she was behind Goldenglow Estate and Honningbrew Meadery.'

'Trying to make Mercer look bad in front of Maven? Clever lass. Is that all?'

'No, kept the juicy part for now. Mercer, Gallus and Karliah were apparently Nightingales. I assume you know something.'

'What… Nightingales?' stammered Brynjolf. 'Yes, but I assumed they were just a tale. A way to keep the young footpads in line. Oh, well. Any other things?'

'That's it. Sorry to spoil your fun.'

'Then, lad, I have an important task for you. One suited to your abilities,' he said. After taking a deep breath, as if telling him whatever came next was hard, he continued: 'I need you to break into Mercer's home and search for anything that could tell us where he's gone.'


	21. Tempting offer

Azrael looked above him, at the suspicious holes in the ceiling. He slowly moved left, placed a hand on the doorknob and lowered it. He totally expected it to be locked, but the door opened without posing any kind of resistance. Meanwhile, after a short clinging, a hail of arrows got shot out of the holes. That explained the opened door in a very clear way. Mercer must have kept something very precious in that room to put all those traps to protect it. As soon as the rain of projectiles had stopped, the Assassin walked into the room and closed the door behind him. He didn't think more people would have gotten to that point with all their limbs still attached to their bodies, but he never took nothing for granted, mostly out of habit.

 _So, what do we have here? Papers, gold, gold jewels, a bowl filled with gold… And gems. "If you want to hide something, put it in plain sight" is a saying Mercer keeps at heart. Well, or not very since these things are in plain sight in the bottom of a trap-filled hole that smells like it hasn't been aired for decades. This is… A statue of the Grey Fox? Seriously? Suppose Delvin would like it. Here, a letter… Doesn't concern me. Ok, papers then._

Azrael looked at the sheet, and tried to understand something of it. There were maps, intricate, and a representation of a statue with crossed legs. A red gem was hand-drawn near it, and arrows connected it to more maps and writings, which were either too small or in a language Azrael's didn't know. Maybe it was some special Nord handwriting he had never see or given much attention to. Aside from that, the nature of the piece of paper was clear. It was some kind of plan, of which Brynjolf might have known more. Azrael wrapped it and fastened it to his belt. He casted one last glance around, just to be sure, and his eyes stopped on a display case which he had not given much attention as he entered. A mysterious ice blue glow came from under the opaque glass.

 _I think they can wait just a little bit more. This is no life or death situation, not yet, so I may as well check._

The Assassin grabbed two lockpicks and kneeled. His short thief career and his longer assassin one required that ability. While in the Guild he had further advanced that skill, mainly thanks to the short challenges with Vex and the slightly longer talks they had about jobs. Azrael had noticed that, for a person that supposedly doesn't talk about anything else than business, she did enjoy petty talk about jobs and techniques of robbery and burglary. The Assassin cleared his head and focused, noticing that the lock was very hard to pick. He had a vague idea of where the soft spot was, but had to be careful. He felt one of the two picks almost breaking, and he tried to finish before it snapped.

It worked.

The Dunmer opened the display case slowly, almost with reverence, and looked inside. He arched an eyebrow, and a cruel grin took shape on his lips.

 _Karliah, your blade might be good, but this one? By Mephala, this one is a sword fit for killing gods._

It had the distinctive design of a blade made of malachite, but this one wasn't dark green like those. It was light blue, the color of ice, and it seemed to be sublimating. Vapor was coming out of the case. The edges were smooth and sharp, the handle looked easy to grip. The Assassin grabbed the hilt and rose the weapon, looking at the long blade with satisfaction. At long last something that impressed him truly. That sword was really a sight to behold.

Happy with his discovery, the Assassin went further down. Brynjolf told him that there was an exit that led to the Ratway.

* * *

'Where did you get that sword, lad?'

'I'll tell you, eventually. Now, regarding Mercer…'

'We've scoured the town and I've spoken to every contact we have left,' Brynjolf explained, shaking his head. 'No sign of Mercer. Any luck on your end?'

'Found theese.'

Azrael almost couldn't undo the wrap before Brynjolf spied the hand drawing of the statue with crossed legs and the red gem near it. He took the sheet away from the hands of the Assassin and stared at it in shock.

'Shor's beard! He's going after the Eyes of the Falmer? That was Gallus's pet project. If he gets his hands on them, you can be certain he'll be gone for good and set up for life.'

'I assume they're quite valuable.'

'More than you can possibly imagine.'

'I guess we'll have to stop him.'

'Agreed. He's taken everything the Guild has left, and to go after one of the last greatest heists is just an insult. I've spoken to Karliah, and made amends for how the Guild's treated her. Now she wishes to speak with both of us. Just…' he added, as Azrael was already leaving for the center of the Cistern where the Dark Elf awaited them. 'Just one last thing, lad. A welcome home present, or rather the completion of our previous deal. The guy you've been looking for, your Esbern, hides down in the Ratway Warrens. He's been paying us good coin for no one to know about it.'

'Thanks,' replied the Assassin, but it was impossible to tell if he was being ironic or not. 'Either way, we've got another mess to resolve. As long as your men remain here to protect him from the Thalmor, I'll help you. I owe both you and Karliah that much.'

Brynjolf moved from Mercer's desk, which he had searched eagerly for clues, and went by the side of the Assassin as they walked towards Karliah, who stood in the middle of the Cistern. However, Brynjolf had one last thing to ask Azrael.

'What, lad? What do you owe me for?'

'I don't think you're quite able to understand, Bryn, but you've done something important for me. You've made me reevaluate myself and my abilities. Before I met you, I believed myself the lonely type whose fate will be being alone for eternity. You proved me wrong, on myself. You showed me that the same instinct that makes me good in one to one conversation is also something I can use to a larger scale. You awoke the dormant leader that slept within me. Or, as you say it, the Alpha Wolf instinct hat slept within me. I'll owe you forever for that.'

Brynjolf felt crushed. He did not understand people that confessed important things while emphasizing those with the tone of the voice. The result was that one remembered the feeling rather than the information that came with words. Azrael's voice had been glacial, maybe except the weak, ever-present sarcastic spark, that had turned into self-irony for that very brief monologue. He had said things that mean the world to Brynjolf and that carried an incredible emotional weight, but he had spoken them without a single hesitation. Worst thing was that Azrael was not done.

'Irrelevant as it may be coming from me, well done, Bryn.'

The magic words seemed to echo in the head of the man: "well done", the phrase Mercer had never told him. Deep inside him, his egotism brewed and whispered that if what happened was the necessary price to dispatch of Mercer and put Azrael in his place, it had been worth it. But there was no more time to think, Karliah was in front of them and already addressing him.

'Brynjolf, the time has come to decide Mercer's fate. Until a new Guild Master is chosen, the decision falls to you.'

'Aye, lass…' he answered. 'I've come to a decision: Mercer Frey tried to kill both of you, he betrayed the Guild, murdered Gallus and made us question our future. He needs to die.'

'We have to be very careful, Brynjolf,' Karliah warned him. 'Mercer is a Nightingale, an Agent of Nocturnal.'

'Then it's all true… everything I heard in the stories. The Nightingales, their allegiance to Nocturnal and the Twilight Sepulcher.'

Azrael narrowed his eyes and looked at both of them. It seemed that was common knowledge among the Guild, and he was the only one that knew nothing of it. Funny, but it seemed the story of the arrival of the Night Mother was playing out again. Mercer was Cicero, Karliah played Babette and Nocturnal could have very well played the Unholy Matron. The Assassin hadn't talked to her or anything, but the two had some things in common for sure; aside from being inhuman entities, obviously. He resigned to listen to Karliah's response, knowing it involved more mystery.

'Yes. That's why we need to prepare ourselves an meet Mercer on equal footing. Just outside of Riften, beyond the Southeast Gate is a small path cut up the mountainside. At the end of that path is a clearing and an old standing stone. I'd ask you both meet me there.'

'We'll be there,' Azrael assured her. 'You can go.'

'We could go there all together,' Brynjolf proposed, but Azrael shook his head.

'No. She needs some time alone.'

Karliah looked at the Assassin, gave him a grateful smirk and then turned back, going to the ladder that led outside. The two males were left by themselves as they looked at her walking further away from them. They exchanged glances and then turned towards one another.

'Do we go there together, lad?'

'Gladly. You need anything?'

'No, I'm fine. You?'

'Need to bring a couple of assets to old Delvin. Meet me just outside in a few minutes.'

* * *

'Now tell me where you got that sword. You didn't have that when you came here with Karliah.'

'Found it in the same room where Mercer kept his plans and some other stuff.'

'Ran into any trouble?'

'No.'

'And the boy that stood guard outside?'

'Eating dirt.'

Needless to say, Brynjolf liked those quick and right-to-the-point responses. No time wasted on explanation, and less on justifications or excuses. They both knew the job would have involved risks, and Brynjolf knew how to circumvent it. He said to him that he was allowed to kill anyone that posed resistance. A person works best when the environment suits them, and the permission to kill rendered the Assassin twice as fast. He dispatched of threats quickly, and he gained precious time by doing so. Not very in line with the Guild's style, but given the circumstances it had to be done. Brynjolf would have trusted no other with the mission of recovering the plans from Mercer's home. Had he sent anyone else, he would have felt guilty. He was sending them to a very difficult task. With Azrael… It was not the same. He could take care of himself better than Bryn could of him. Protecting him was redundant, and overprotecting him backfired terribly.

While the Dunmer had been away, he had talked for a long time to Karliah about him. He was waiting for his informers to come back, and he needed to do something to ease the tension. He went over and spoke to the she-Elf that he only saw as a child, and that seemed to haven't aged one day since. She was still the one Brynjolf remembered, although the signs of her twenty-five years spent fleeing were visible. Her voice was always tired, she talked about most things as if she was bored by them. This attitude vanished immediately as the subject of their conversation shifted on Azrael. Her violet eyes suddenly brightened up, and her shrill and faint voice returned exactly like the one Brynjolf remembered. They talked about how good of a companion he was and how effective as an agent. Karliah told Brynjolf the story of their encounter, their discussions and the bond that kept them close.

'We went from strangers, to allies, to recognizing our mutual status of siblings in blood, and then straight to friends,' she had explained. 'I didn't plan on it, but I couldn't help it. I drop all defenses while I'm with him. He just reminds me so much of Gallus…'

'Is there anything romantic between the two of you?' Brynjolf had inquired, curious.

'No,' replied Karliah, 'absolutely not. Gallus was similar to him in the effects, the ability to give orders and gain respect. But the means and goals… They are completely different. Gallus rarely joked, his solemn tone and serious expression were the things I loved of him. Azrael is different. He is, in a way, more intelligent and much smarter. He is a calm person, very few things surprise him or scare him. When met with something new, he doesn't face it head on. He studies it, understands it, mocks it and then annihilates it. I assure you that, if he had been in Gallus' place, he wouldn't have waited to expose Mercer to the Guild. He would have trampled everything, kill him if need be, to save the Guild. Again, Gallus' discretion was a thing of him I adored, but that was rather impractical sometimes. His death proved it.'

The conversation slowly shifted subject. Now that Karliah had made a mention of Azrael being in Gallus and Mercer's place, Brynjolf started again to think how good Azrael would have been in the position of Guild Master. He shared his thoughts with Karliah, who he was finding incredibly agreeable and reasonable for a person he had spent his whole life despising. She confessed that the idea went through her head as well. They decided they needed to try and talk him into becoming the new Guild Master. They agreed that Brynjolf should have done that, since he was the one that the Assassin had known as the one mixed in the Guild's business up to the neck.

As he and Azrael were walking to the meeting point, Brynjolf looked for the moment to ask him. He tried with some tactical questions, that would have hopefully led where he wanted.

'What do you think about this whole mess, lad? I mean, you're seeing it from the outside, so it should be different in your eyes.'

'Not to be hard on you, the sight of that empty vault must have been quite the shock, but it's Karliah that has had the worst part to play in the tragedy. Lucky her she was born a Dunmer. Spending twenty-five years planning vengeance? That's not in the blood of your kind. Besides, you wouldn't have had the time.'

'Aye, you're right. I remember when Gallus was killed… What a mess it was. I was just a chap, not even a grown man yet. Mercer took over, we immediately decided he was to be the new leader. It was damn confusing. I remember Delvin screaming and giving orders left and right. To think he was not bald at the time… He was always there, ever present, a fair-haired man with long a bushy blonde mustaches that barked instructions all over the place. Man, it's so long ago and yet it feels like it was yesterday.'

They had just went past the small hill beyond the city and entered the woods. The South Gate had disappeared behind them. Azrael knew the stone they were going to, he saw it one time from a ridge near the city when doing shady work for the grandson of Maven Black-Briar. Thinking of what he had done in those two weeks to fill in the empty time was incredible. He had aided people in Riften, dispatched of drug dealers and also stole horses for someone. Horses that, by the way, he had kept. His hirer wasn't truly happy, but handed him the payment and let go of the horse without saying much else. Azrael had imagined that his colleagues in the Brotherhood might have liked a horse of their property to move around quicker. While pulling off the break-in that he was supposed to do in that mission, Azrael had also spied the standing stone where they were headed.

'Lad, listen,' said Brynjolf suddenly. 'There's one more piece of business we need to discuss before we get caught in some other mess with Mercer. The leadership of the Guild.'

'The leadership of the Guild…' whispered the Assassin, looking sideways at the man. 'And you're telling me this because…?'

'While you were at Mercer's home, Karliah and I had a long discussion. I know that you didn't come here thinking of doing anything for the Guild and only for your own business, but thanks to your efforts Mercer has been exposed. After we deal with him, all we have to do is restoring the Guild back to its full strength. As a result, I and Karliah felt like you'd have the potential of replacing Mercer as the leader of the Thieves Guild.'

'Me?' asked the Assassin, laughing heartily. 'Of course, any day now. What would be wrong with you, for a start?'

'I've been at this game a long time, my friend. A long time. I believe I've already told you about that. I've kept the Guild together for years, aided Mercer in his every effort, managed heists and organized the Guild's activities. I've stolen trinkets from nobles and framed priests for murder. I'm good at what I do, maybe one of the best. But it's all I know. I've never been one to lead. Never desired it, never cared for it. Don't want it.'

Confessions done, now it was time for the Assassin to take his decision. Brynjolf knew he was offering him something strange. He was offering the lead of the Guild to a person that was practically a stranger. He couldn't know if Azrael would have accepted the offer. He had no affairs with the Guild, never wanted to have any and was pursuing his own business. Brynjolf, however, had discussed this with Karliah. He hoped that the Assassin wouldn't have renounced to an offer that would have allowed him to gain further help and, most of all, to test his abilities. He waited.

'A tempting offer,' said the Assassin, glacial. Bryn waited for more, but that was all he said.

'And so what?' he pressed.

'I just need a moment to think.'

Brynjolf lowered his gaze and they went forward. He was a bit tense. They were now very close to the stone, the trees were becoming fewer and fewer and they saw Karliah not too long after they had finished talking. She was leaning against a large monolith in the center of a small clearing, and looked in their direction. She noticed the tense face of Brynjolf, and wondered what could have happened, only to realized that he must had offered her brother in blood the place of Guild Master. She looked at Azrael, searching for answers to her questions in his eyes, but they were unreadable and shining red, as always, and his gaze was ice-cold and impenetrable, as always.

Given who she was facing, she could afford to be blunt.

'What's up with those grim faces?' she asked.

'Bryn asked me to take the lead of the Guild,' explained the Assassin. 'I believe you had a hand in that, as well.'

'I had. And what of it?'

'He said that he needs time,' replied Brynjolf.

'I did, now scratch that,' rejoined Azrael. 'I accept.'

Brynjolf looked at the Dunmer sideways in confusion. Karliah gave a faint grin and looked at the two.

'What?' asked the man. 'You said you needed time to think!'

'And you gave me some. It's been two minutes since I said that.'

Karliah chuckled quietly. The gaze of Azrael and the astonished face of Brynjolf were really a sight to behold. The thief looked like he didn't believe his own years, and the Assassin seemed to be restraining himself from laughing.

'Well, well…' intervened Karliah. 'I suppose you don't have anything more to worry about, Brynjolf. And you, Azrael, that's some quick decision making. We'll need that once we're back into business.'

'Azrael the Assassin,' he sighed, laughing grimly and raising both eyebrows for a moment. 'Master of the Guild of Kleptomaniacs… If somebody had told me that story, I'd probably have killed him.'

Karliah and Brynjolf laughed.


	22. Three for one

'So, Karliah, would you mind explaining something about Nocturnal to your ignorant friends?'

'You never heard about Nocturnal?' she asked, back. It wasn't a surprise reply or anything, she was only calculating where she should have started.

'No,' answered Brynjolf. 'Never really cared for gods or whatnot.'

'Azrael?'

'I know myths and stories,' he said. 'She is sister to Azura, but unlike Azura, she is the lady of darkness only. She is the mistress of night, although her titles are many and diverse.'

'And she's patron to every thief in Tamriel,' Karliah concluded.

'I think you already know my skepticism about this,' pointed out Azrael. 'Thieves and gods usually don't go well together. They are terrible bedfellows.'

'Nocturnal isn't one for worship and reverence. There are no priests and no sermons, no services and no alms. She influences our luck and in return demands payment.'

'Sounds like a Guild contract,' observed Brynjolf, exchanged glances with Azrael.

'You're closer to understand than you realize,' said Karliah. 'The only difference is she doesn't demand payment in the traditional sense and sometimes the cost can be quite high. Whether you know it or not, Nocturnal dictates how well we perform as rogues.'

'Meaning? I think I have my abilities in check, do I not?' asked the Assassin.

'Again, you have to think differently,' she said. 'Haven't you ever noticed how our luck behaves? Like a novice picking an impossible lock or a blind man suddenly turning to face you as you reach for his pocket? It's through these subtle means that Nocturnal influences us.'

Azrael knew that kind of reasoning. It was very much like the one he had had with Titus Mede, although from a different point of view. From a global perspective, Fate was the thing that dictated over everything. In a way, Nocturnal had a big part in shaping the events as Fate needed. From a more worldly standpoint, it could seem like luck. Something that occurs out of chance, or a banal chain of events that favor us. It didn't really matter how they explained them, he had gotten what she meant. Brynjolf not so much, apparently.

'Sounds almost like she wants us to suffer,' said the man. Karliah shrugged.

'Nocturnal's whim is the greatest mystery to everyone. There have been volumes written on the subject. Does she exact payment when we die? When we suffer does she revel in our misery? No one knows. The return certainly seems worth the risk though.'

Azrael noticed that they did not seem to get one simple point that he had understood immediately. Nocturnal wasn't sadist, she didn't really like others to suffer. She simply didn't really much care for her servants, and treated them without any compassion or sympathy. She used them, but without truly exploiting them. The Assassin didn't even need to think to come to that conclusion, and it surprised him that no one of the other two had understood that. He wasn't certainly in the company of ignorant of stupid people, Karliah and Brynjolf were both very intelligent. After a bit more of though, however, he realized one thing. His thoughts on the matters had flown something like this:

 _She obtains an exchange that is in perfect "Ro" with her servants…_

Ro: balance, absolute equilibrium. The fact alone that a word in the Dragon Tongue had come to his mind proved well enough that those thoughts were in some way connected to his other nature. The one that he shared with neither Brynjolf nor Karliah. That he shared with no one really. Aside from the flying beasts that constantly tried to kill him. He grinned.

'What's that smirk, lad?'

'Nothing,' he answered. 'Let's go on. Karliah, one more thing. What exactly happened to capturing Mercer alive?'

'From the moment you were struck with my poisoned arrow at Snow Veil Sanctum, my path changed its course,' she said, heaving a deep sigh. 'Perhaps I couldn't bring Mercer back alive, but together, we were able to clear my name and to put Gallus's memory to rest. I'd always intended Mercer's fate to ultimately be decided by the Guild, and it seems they've spoken,' she added, casting a glance at Brynjolf.

The three entered the door that had been on Brynjolf and Azrael's left since they began speaking. Azrael was at the back of the group, Bryn in the middle and Karliah led the way. She opened the door, slowly. The Assassin peaked inside, and noticed that the entrance was the one of a ordinary cave. No banners or other strange thing.

'We are where, exactly?' he asked.

'This is the headquarters of the Nightingales, cut into the mountainside by the first of our kind. We've come to seek the edge we need to defeat Mercer Frey.'

'And the name of this place?'

'Nightingale Hall.'

'So this is it…' murmured Brynjolf, glancing around non stop. 'I heard about this place when I joined the Guild, but I never believed it existed.'

'The assumption that the Nightingales were just a myth was seeded within the Guild on purpose. It helped avert attention from our true nature,' she said, and then her tone changed from a serious to an ironic tone. 'What's wrong, Brynjolf? I can almost hear your brow furrowing.'

'I'm trying to understand why I'm here, lass. I'm no priest, and I'm certainly not religious. Why pick me?'

'This isn't about religion, Brynjolf… It's business.'

Azrael laughed quietly. The two of them were quite funny. Brynjolf that looked around like a scared child, lost in the new atmosphere, and Karliah that tried to explain him. She did, however, explain things in a cryptic tone that brought up two more question and left the one asked unanswered. A lot of Dunmer did that. It looked like secrecy was in their blood; and it kind of was. Azura, which they began to worship very early in their history, taught them exactly that: to be shadowy and mysterious. All that talk about religion was bringing back memories of home, the rare times he and his friends made a short prayer to the Goddess of Twilight for something they needed.

The cave still had a generic look, and it seemed like nobody had been there in a while. Moos covered the stone edges and large ferns grew right in the middle of the passageway. Water dripped down from small crack in the ceiling. It was dark as night, but Karliah had been provident and brought a torch with her. With that she lit the way for her and Brynjolf, while the Assassin walked behind them with his trusty Candlelight charm floating just behind his head, giving off a cold and bright light.

Azrael began to hear the swashing of a river or a small stream and finally saw a banner hanging from the wall. In the meantime, Karliah went off the road. She probably knew the place by heart. The passage had enlarged and it looked like they were entering a kind of hall.

Karliah lowered the torch, and lit a brazier that Azrael had seen only a moment before. The coals began to sparkle, and then gave off more and more light until everything around was visible. Not to the other wall, but to the other side of the small stream. That much Azrael had guessed right. In the back of the Hall there was a short waterfall, and the water flowed, surprisingly, in the same direction they were heading. It meant it went deeper into the mountain. The place around them was build with stone elevation, and a wooden bridge hanged above the torrent, connecting the two sides.

'It's enough to make your head spin, isn't it?' said Brynjolf.

'Not quite. I've seen worse.'

'You've been thought tough adventures, hey lad?'

'I don't think you want to hear them all, even.'

'This is Nightingale Hall,' explained Karliah, interrupting their banter. 'You're the first of the uninitiated to set foot inside in over a century. Now, if you'll both proceed to the armory to don your Nightingale Armor, we can begin the Oath.'

'One century? And where did you become a Nightingale?'

'Not here,' she cut short. 'Let's go, to the stones.'

They group proceeded deeper into the Hall. Now it resembled one fully. Karliah lit more of the braziers, and told Azrael to do the same. The small stream flowed under the rocks and disappeared in the side of the mountain, and all around. Stalagmites came down the ceiling, some acting as pillars, and the walls were glossy, the cobblestone placed with keen eye. They were covered in moos all the same, but they looked a lot better. Brynjolf barely breathed. Karliah led them to an adjacent room, and once she lit the brazier Azrael eyed three stones with suits of armor put near them. He approached, quickening his pace, and took a look at the suits of leather and steel.

Masterpieces, all three of them. The cuirass that lied on the top of the stone was solid, well crafted and seemed durable. The few lines of metal only served the purpose of keeping the leather together. Azrael had the strong suspect they were forged using magical means; no animal hide was black enough to had that color, even after tempering. The boots were similar, and used stripes of pelt to adjust the size of the upper parts. The Assassin noticed immediately the crafting technique, especially of the sole, which were the same as the greaves he donned. The ones of the assassin of old. The gloves were half-fingered, like his, but were entirely made of leather. His were more like gauntlets, with thin plates of metal covering the forearm. They allowed for stronger hits, especially while killing an enemy with one stab. Lastly, the hood was black and had a face mask attached to the lower parts of the neck-cover. The mask was made of the same leather, and not strengthened with metal like the one he carried around.

With a string of disappointment, Azrael realized that that suit wasn't as good as his.

'You seem hesitant to don your Nightingale armor,' observed Karliah from behind him. 'What's troubling you?'

Azrael turned and looked at her. She had already put on the cuirass and boots, the gloves lied on the side and the hood was in her hands. She looked back at Azrael, who decided to speak his mind.

'One thing. I need to keep this thing while we do whatever it is we're gong to do. And then?'

'If it doesn't suit you, you can always leave here in the Hall. The Nightingale that will come after you will wear it,' she simply said. 'As I told you, Nocturnal is not one for officials appearances or uniforms. That armor is only a bonus, something you have in return for your services. Don it, Azrael, and after the Oath you can put back you suit. Don't worry.'

The Assassin calmly began to take off his armor.

* * *

'Okay, lass. We've got this getups on… Now what?'

'Beyond this gate is the first step in becoming a Nightingale,' she explained. Again, her tone raised more question other than the one she didn't answer fully. Enough for Brynjolf to worry.

'Whoa there, lass. I appreciate the armor, but becoming a Nightingale? That was never discussed.'

'To hold any hope of defeating Mercer, we must have Nocturnal at our backs. If she's to accept you as one of her own, an arrangement must be struck.'

'What sort of arrangement? I need to know the terms,' Bryn pressed.

'What do you think?' asked the Assassin. 'Same as all Daedric Princes. Nocturnal will grant us power, and give us he permission to use it as we will it. However, she will demand and compel us to serve her in this life and the next. Am I right, Karliah?'

'You are indeed, Azrael. You'll become Nightingales, with all the power that comes with the status. And in return, both in life and in death, you must serve as a guardian of the Twilight Sepulcher.'

'Aye, there's always a catch,' sighed Brynjolf. 'But at this point, I suppose there isn't much to lose. If it means the end of Mercer Frey, you can count me in.'

Azrael grinned behind the leather mask of the armor. Karliah, the good Dunmer she was, was a steadfast follower of the Daedric Princes. However, she looked at that link with them as something you need to be careful with, something very worldly and very connected to material life. Brynjolf, on the other hand, was a typical Nord. He didn't follow any god, but treated them with reverence either way. He didn't care for Nocturnal, or what she wanted from him. All he wanted was to have his own advantages, and get his revenge, but considered her much more powerful than the two Dark Elves did. Azrael was much more in line with Karliah's way of thinking, seeing the Princes as dangerous masters and powerful entities, but also considering them only partially invincible. They were only supernatural partners and allegiances. Nothing too serious. The cultural distance between Men and Mer was visible now more than ever.

'And you, Azrael? Are you ready?'

'I am.'

'Good. After I open the gate, please stand on the western circle.'

The three soon to be Nightingales walked ahead, towards the gate made of metal spikes. Karliah still led the way, with Bryn right behind her and Azrael in the rear. Karliah had her long bow hanging on her back, Brynjolf his two daggers fastened to his belt; lastly, Azrael had his bow on his back, the Blade of Woe dangling by his side and the sword he got from Mercer's house placed in a leather sheath he had crafted himself before departing with Brynjolf. Delvin had told him that it was an ancient artifact, whose traces had been lost around the beginning of the fourth era. Almost two hundred years before. The blade was called Chillrend, and its power was the subject of legends and speculation among experts. The two thieves and the Assassin, all armed to the teeth, reached the door.

Karliah pulled the chain and opened it.

Azrael walked ahead, to his platform. He had wondered before if he really wanted to transact the Oath and bond himself to a Daedric Prince. It usually never ends well. However, he trusted Karliah, and figured that nothing horrible would have come from it. If anything, he imagined the abilities of a Nightingale could have helped him in whatever other mission he needed to do. Resisting the pitiless manipulation of a Daedra in never easy, but with a bit of awareness it is possible. He knew some that went through a life of servitude to several Princes, living happily and without any catastrophic events. If anything, they felt privileged by the attention they got from the Lords. So, in the end, Azrael felt it was a necessary, and altogether not too bad deal, to both gain power and officially become a part of the Thieves Guild. Now that he was in to become the new Guild Master, he needed some excuse that recognized him as a part of the Guild. There seemed to be no more effective way than to become a Nightingale.

Brynjolf walked on the circle opposite to Azrael, while Karliah stood in the middle one. They all took their places and turned towards the center of the hall. Azrael looked at the water flowing underneath them. That was where the small stream ended up, although he didn't see any way for it to flow away. The outlet had to be below the water level.

Karliah closed her eyes and opened her hands.

'I call upon you Lady Nocturnal, Queen of Murk and Empress of Shadow… hear my voice!'

The Assassin looked as a violet light began to shimmer in the bigger circle in front of them. It slowly grew brighter, illuminating the entire room with its dark light. After a moment, a voice came from it.

'Karliah… I was wondering when I'd hear from you again. Lose something, did we?'

Azrael grinned behind the mask. The tone of Nocturnal had been so ironically deriding that it seemed almost too down to earth. The Assassin wondered if Brynjolf still treated the Daedra with his previous, doubtless reverence. A reverence so deep it led him to ignore gods entirely.

Without minding the mockery in her mistress' voice, Karliah replied calmly.

'My Lady, I've come before you to throw myself upon your mercy and to accept responsibility for my failure.'

'You're already mine, Karliah. Your terms were struck long ago. What could you possibly offer me now?'

'I have two others that wish to transact the Oath; to serve you both in life and in death.'

There was a brief, almost unnoticeable moment of silence. Nocturnal reply wasn't immediate, giving away that she hadn't foreseen that offer. That was the thing Azrael liked of the Daedric Princes: the fact that they are too obsessed with our world to keep safe from its risks and faults. The Empress of Shadow didn't seem interested in concealing the motivation of her sight pause.

'You surprise me, Karliah. This offer is definitely weighted in my favor.'

'My appetite for Mercer's demise exceeds my craving for wealth, Your Grace,' Karliah quickly explained. There were no lies in the face of a Daedra. The truth had to be said in the cruelest of ways possible. The more harder it was, the more the Princes trusted you.

'Revenge? How interesting…' she commented, before continuing: 'Very well, the conditions are acceptable. You may proceed.'

'Lady Nocturnal, we accept your terms,' said Karliah, her tone more solemn. This was probably the only part of the transaction where the lines were already written. 'We dedicate ourselves to you as both your avengers and your sentinels. We will honor our agreement in this life and the next until your conditions have been met.'

'Very well. I name your initiates Nightingales, and I restore your status to the same, Karliah. And in the future, I'd suggest you refrain from disappointing me again.'

The violet light shimmered and disappeared. Azrael shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Magical lights of that intensity frequently made his head spin. He walked down to the main circle, where the Nocturnal had appeared a moment before. Karliah had arrived there first and gestured them both to come closer to her. The Assassin still looked at where the Princess had disappeared. The encounter had been brief and to the point. Some people might have found it disappointing. People that didn't know the Daedric Lords well enough.

'Now,' Karliah began. 'it's time to reveal the final piece of the puzzle to you; Mercer's true crime.'

'The things he stole from the "Sunset Resting Place" Enthir told us about?'

'Yes,' she answered, with a serious tone. Azrael's mention at that translation error wasn't really a jest either way. 'Mercer was able to unlock the Guild's vault without two keys because of what he stole from the Twilight Sepulcher: the Skeleton Key. By doing this, he's compromised our ties to Nocturnal and in essence, caused our luck to run dry.'

'So she has a specific way of influencing this world?' asked Azrael.

'Yes.'

'And can this key unlock any door?'

'Well, yes. But the Key isn't only restricted to physical barriers. All of us possess untapped abilities; the potential to wield great power, securely sealed within our minds. Once you realize the Key can access these traits, the potential becomes limitless.'

'And why can't the Guild keep it?' asked Brynjolf, clearly missing the point.

'Look at Mercer,' replied the Assassin in Karliah's stead. 'It would benefit the Guild, sure, but it's too much for mortal hands to handle. This Key, Bryn, is the type of thing that no living being should be able to use, let alone possess.'

'You're a quick study, Azrael,' Karliah complimented him. 'I see you've got the point. If the Key isn't returned to its lock in the Twilight Sepulcher, things will never be the same for the Guild. As time passed, our luck would diminish to the point of non-existence. And whether you know it or not, our uncanny luck defines our trade.'

'Its the first time I'm in for returning something…' mumbled Brynjolf.

'Very true,' chuckled Karliah. 'In our line of work, it's quite rare we set out to return a stolen item to its rightful owner.'

'And what exactly are the side-effect of the Key being lost?'

'With the Skeleton Key missing from the Twilight Sepulcher, I'm afraid Mercer's seen to it that none of us can benefit from Nocturnal's gifts. That is why you're not feeling any stronger, or are presented with new abilities.'

'But she spoke to us!' exclaimed Brynjolf.

'You merely transacted the Oath; signed the unwritten contract with Nocturnal, Brynjolf. In order for us to receive our abilities, our end of the bargain, I'm afraid the Key must be returned.'

'But was she angry at us?' the man insisted.

'No. If Nocturnal was truly displeased with me… with any of us, she wouldn't have answered my call. I have no doubt that we still hold her favor, and I believe it gives us enough of an edge to defeat Mercer Frey. Speaking of which, Bryn, tell us about what you know.'

'I've been pouring over the plans the lad brought us, and I'm convinced the Eyes of the Falmer are in the Dwarven Ruin of Irkngthand. It's a whole week on foot.'

'Too long,' said Karliah. 'Azrael you can use your horse, can you?'

'Yes…' answered the Assassin, bending his head to the left. 'But I don't think she'll be able to bring more than two of us. However, I think I have a spare horse waiting for me at the stables.'

'A spare horse?' asked Brynjolf. 'Where did you get that?'

'I… "borrowed" it from Maven Black-Briar. For an unspecified amount of time, that is.'


	23. The Trinity's chase

It took them five days to reach Irkngthand; three to get to Windhelm and another two to get to the ruin. The search in the snow was hard, the signs of the remains were never clear. At midday of the third day Brynjolf went out to scout, and returned claiming to have located the ruin. The three set out immediately, only for the Assassin to realize that the pile of dwarven metal he had seen wasn't what they were looking for. It was Raldbthar. Azrael remembered it because from his dealings with Alain Dufont.

The Assassin took the lead after that point. Brynjolf and Karliah, sitting on the saddle of Frost, the spare horse Azrael had, looked at him as he constantly casted glances at the map, raised his gaze and told them to go forward. He and Shadowmere were always at the edges of the road, looking at the landscape around them and trying to locate their destination. The Assassin was silent, and never spoke that much aside from acre comments and glacial orders.

Brynjolf started to get a bit worried come nightfall of the fifth day. He started rambling about possible solutions, like follow Mercer's footsteps. Azrael quickly reminded him that the blizzard that covered them in snow had been raging for three days straight. Every trace disappeared in five minutes, or less. It was also the reason why he didn't bother to cover their tracks: they practically didn't leave any. Nonetheless, his glacial tone reassured Brynjolf. Karliah casted a glance at him from under the hood.

'You're not worried?' she asked him.

'No,' he replied.

'Not even of not finding the place?'

'No.'

'How?'

'Do you want me to be worried? Is that it?' asked back the Assassin, with an icy tone. 'I hope not, for I'm not getting concerned about an inconvenience. Know what, you stay brooding here together for a while. Warm one another, do whatever you please. I'm off for a bit.'

Azrael left the camp as the sun set completely. Shadowmere never lamented, hardly snorted and the only thing giving her comfort was the presence of her rider. Azrael had spent some time staying next to her, patting her on the neck. They seemed to have a deep bond that wasn't entirely comprehensible from the outside; it was true that Shadowmere really wasn't the first animal that could be found around. That day she accepted gladly the chance to gallop a bit, neighed loudly and then dashed forward in a mad gallop. The blizzard shrouded them after a moment, and the last thing the other two Nightingales saw was Azrael melting the ice of his cloak with a weak stream of flames that sparkled out of his palm

Brynjolf and Karliah remained there, alone. They talked, a lot. Karliah said she didn't feel as cold when she talked. They exchanged thoughts, memories, opinions on the Guild and its purpose, life choices and endless other things. After a while their discussion began gravitating on Azrael once again, like it had in the Flagon four days before. Karliah said she was happy the Assassin had accepted the role of Guild Master, while Brynjolf asked her about his eye color change. Azrael's eyes, in fact, were slowly changing tint. From his native dark red to the violet of Karliah. She explained that the influence of Nocturnal is powerful and that it emerged on the outside every time, although in different ways. Dark Elves usually change eye color.

The Assassin came back after two hours or so. He had found the ruin, and told them to move. Neither of them complained or objected. Not that they had something to object, but they wouldn't have anyway. He was the natural leader, even of their little group. They spurred Frost forward, following the Assassin. What took him probably fifty minutes or so took them two whole hours. It was the heart of night when they arrived at the ruins, and the dark combined with the snowstorm rendered everything almost impossible to see or hear. That was why Azrael left them outside, and told them to go inside of the ruin as quickly as they could. There were bandits in the area, and he wanted to get rid of them first, in case they had to use the front door as an emergency exit.

Brynjolf and Karliah sneaked past the rogues without any noticeable difficulty. They got to the door and, she killed with a shot in the throat the outlaw standing guard, and they entered. The first chamber was a dwarven hall, almost three times as big as the Cistern. Lights illumined the place and the braziers were lit, meaning someone had been there. However, they found only corpses, gathered around a campfire in the middle.

'Mercer?' asked Brynjolf.

'Without doubt,' replied Karliah, kneeled down beside a body. 'Look, two of them have been killed in their sleep. The other one was probably on patrol, and found him only later. These cuts are shallow, and not too precise. Everything matches. Let's proceed, Brynjolf. Azrael will catch up to us later.'

'Aye, lass.'

* * *

 _Stay as a ball, stay as a ball, my dear… Good. Don't turn, or I'll have to do this the hard way. Like this, come on don't turn…_

The Dwarven Sphere couldn't react when a dagger slashed in the fissures and severed all the mechanisms and metal joints. The internal part crumbled to the ground, a large cloud of steam rose in the air and the oil that powered it splattered on the ground.

 _Such an agreeable little thing…_ the Assassin said to the dwerer machine in his mind.

He walked forward. The hall was enormous, not even the ones in Raldbthar were as big. The only experience he had on Dwarven Ruins were of that time. After killing Dufont and seeing that there was a way to go deeper into the mountain he hadn't been able to resist. He had gained a little bit of knowledge, a knowledge that allowed him not to be surprised this time around. The Dwemer seemed to have an inner need to be grandiose. He went beyond the dwarven gate, and remembered that not only they needed to be grandiose, but were paranoid. To a point where they easily beat Delphine. There were four rotating pillars with four flamethrowers each. The Assassin waited for one to pass and then squeezed between the next to, careful not to touch the streams of fire.

 _They always have a special imagination regarding traps. I mean, the blades would be pretty inspired were they not placed anywhere. This, however, is rather creative and original. Not to mention the poison trap Calcelmo found where he build the museum… Damn!_ he cursed silently, touching the flames with his shoulder. The armor, the armor of the assassin of old, didn't catch fire, but it still heated enough to burn him. _Lucky me I am a Dunmer. Were it Brynjolf, he would have cried of pain._

He went past all four without any difficulty and no more burns. He opened the gate at the end of the room and followed the corridor, which was filled with rubble and stone chunks. Looking up, Azrael saw that the ceiling had collapsed, hence the metal plates and the rocks. They must had fallen afterwards. The thing he liked about Dwarven Ruins was that there wasn't the need to carry a torch. The lights were kept fueled by the dwemer machines, and never went out. Going forwards he saw that the largest part of the next hall was blocked by high spikes, and on his right there was the elevator that led further down into the mountain. He didn't even have to ask himself whether his two fellows had gone down: their wet footprints were there to assure him of that. He pulled the lever and the elevator went down.

He took a look at the footprints, just as a time killer. His expertise and experience also turned into a privacy killer, but those were problems of those who had left their footprints in the first place. The larger and longer ones, clearly the ones of Brynjolf, were closer to the wall, while Karliah's, smaller and more elegant, were closer to the lever. She had been the one pulling it. It went like that all the time. Their little group was like that. If we have to describe it as one body, we might say that Azrael was the mind, Brynjolf the heart and Karliah the arm. They were different, but they complemented each other.

Azrael, the Assassin, the merciless killer without any principles or moralities, that trampled on everything and anyone in his way to get to the objective. His calm, competence and ability to guide others were his gifts to the team as a leader, while his ability in eliminating any menace without ever taking issues with morality was the gift he gave to the team as a member. Brynjolf, the schemer, the one that had spent his entire life planning heists and organizing robberies. He was able to program and execute everything he was asked, as long as that order came from someone he respected. His energy, feelings and conviction were what kept the team together, and his unparalleled skills helped it reach its goals. And finally, last but not least, Karliah. The exiled, the Elf that had spent twenty-five years of her life fleeing from her previous allies. She was used to being alone, taking decision for herself and caring for herself, but she never scoffed at an order gave from someone who she trusted, and would have carried it out no matter the cost. Skill, experience and good advice: those were the things she gave to her team.

They worked well together, and cared for each other.

The elevator reached the bottom in a couple of minutes. As soon as it did, Azrael saw his two fellows waiting for him. He walked down the short slope and nodded at the two in a silent greeting.

'Glad you're with us,' said Karliah. 'Mercer's been here. I hope we're too late.'

'The corpses, you mean.'

'Yes. His doing,' explained Brynjolf.

'We found them like that. We have to catch up to him before it's too late.'

'On our way, then,' said Azrael, taking the lead.

'We should tread carefully,' advised Karliah. 'I wouldn't be surprise if he left behind a few surprises for us.'

Azrael walked ahead, with his two comrades at his back. He opened the dwarven door, both wings, and dodged the spiked ball that feel down on his face at the last possible second. Karliah let out a soft cry or warning, but the Assassin just turned towards her rolling his eyes.

'Speak of the devil…' he tittered, and then went ahead, not bothered in the slightest by the mean trick.

They so much as moved a few meters ahead and they found dead Falmer. Azrael eyed them quickly and proceeded without saying anything or analyzing anything. Karliah got the why as she passed by, looking at their wounds. They had been killed by short bolts and piercing weapons, the kind of weapons the dwemer automatons had on them. Mercer had had no part in that, especially since the corpses were already quite old. They just went past them, and in front of them appeared a new, giant hall. It was the size of all the Jarl's residences in Skyrim put together. The Assassin went as close as he could to the spikes that prevented him from going in, since the floor was several meters below him. He eyed some Falmer on the right and… something else, moving in the shadows.

'Karliah, that over there…'

'It's Mercer!' she exclaimed, grabbing the bars and looking down.

'Where?' asked Brynjolf.

'Down there!'

'I'm on it, lass!'

Brynjolf checked the spike barrier, and Azrael shook his head. There wasn't even a crack. The perfection with which those dwemer ruins stayed as they were was enviable, and sometimes horribly annoying. Brynjolf was just having a taste.

'Damn it, there's not way through! Any ideas?'

Azrael, however, was looking at Karliah. She was casting gazing down at Mercer, as he cut down the two Falmer that warmed around the fire. She gripped strongly the bars, but didn't say a single word. She was like that when she was focused, maybe she was also trying to see what he was doing. The Assassin waited for her to speak. He was sure she would, and Karliah knew he was waiting for her to report what she learned.

'He's toying with us…' she murmured. 'He wants us to follow.'

'Aye, lass. And we'll be ready for him! Come on!' Brynjolf encouraged them.

Azrael took the lead again, and guided them down the next slope. They were going further down, which only meant that place was truly in the lowest bowels of Nirn. The ceiling had collapsed there also. Maybe there had been an earthquake or some other tremor that had made the place change a bit. Even though everything was somewhat in its place, the amount of rubble on the ground was surely too much to be natural. They kept descending untill they arrived at the end of the corridor and in anew hall.

'What gives off this light?' asked Brynjolf.

'Dwemer lamps,' answered Azrael. 'The automatons keep them fueled. They are programmed to do as such, and won't stop till they are destroyed.'

'Look at the steam pipes here,' observed Karliah. 'There must be some sort of mechanism in this hall. Wonder what is activates…'

'That closed door over there, perhaps?' Azrael laughed. 'You two, one at each of those levers on the side. Look at those mechanisms: they are connected to those pipes, which are closed at the moment. Pull the levers at the same time and they will both activate, opening the door. Join me downside, and but don't step in the middle. See that small fissure in the ground? It's a rotating blade. It will slice you for good, and I'd like to have both of you alive by the end of this journey. Come on, to work.'

They did as asked. Azrael stood there, knowing that as soon as the gate opened and the mechanisms sprang, the Falmer would hear the noise and go rabid. He looked at Brynjolf, on his right, and Karliah, on his left, as they coordinated and puled both levers at the same exact time. Like the Assassin had planned, both pipes released the steam and activated the cluster of cogs. The spikes of the gate lowered. The Falmer, with their sensitive hearing, were probably deafened by the sound. They immediately grabbed their swords and bows and dispersed. There were five of them, definitely too few to pose any kind of threat.

One hit in the throat with an arrow. The next in between the shoulders. Hearing the noise, one turned towards the direction from where the twangs came, only to get an arrow right in the forehead. Another one tried to approach the stairs, but Karliah got him from the side. The sudden shift of source of the noise confused the last one, making him stop. A last arrow found its mark in his heart.

'You two are deadly with a bow,' commented Brynjolf, that had come back closer to the Assassin while the two were raining projectiles down on the Falmer. 'I'd like to know who's better.'

The two males went down, waiting for the she-Elf to rejoin them.

'Depends,' Azrael answered in the meantime. 'I'd imagine I can line deadlier shots, mainly because I'm stronger. I think I'm also a bit more accurate, but she fires slightly faster than me. We're both top-level archers and we have different styles, there's no better one between us.'

'What are you two talking about?' she asked, as soon as she got in earshot.

Azrael gestured them to avoid the spinning blades and took the side, that was covered in Falmer junk and Chaurus dung. It wasn't a pleasant sight, but the stench wasn't unbearable as some other animal. Since the Falmer had a very keen sense of smell, that pretty much was a requirement. As soon as the danger was over they moved towards the gate, and Azrael explained.

'Brynjolf asked who, between you and me, is better with a bow.'

'And what have you answered?'

'That we're both extremely good archers and that we just have different styles.'

'I always liked your supreme modesty.'

'Modesty is a requirement for our race.'

The two Dunmer laughed. Brynjolf didn't quite get the jest, but still tittered at the sight of the two sniggering behind the masks. Since Azrael had left them that afternoon his mood had become gloomier, but with the return of the Assassin everything seemed to be in place again. With the source of humor and the alleviator of tension again in their company, they were strong anew. Victory had never seemed this close, now that they all had recovered their agreeable attitudes. Meanwhile, they had gone through the corridor. Brynjolf lamented about the steam that floated right at the height of their heads, and Karliah just shrugged. Azrael had already reached the next room, and looked through it with a suspicious gaze.

'What's the matter, Azrael?' asked Karliah.

'This place is a pile of rubble. Something must have happened here. Look at those towers,' he said, pointing at a huge fortification that had fell right on one structure overhead. 'A thing of that size wouldn't move, even after this much time, and the dwarven metal doesn't degrade this quickly. There must have been some kind of tremor here. Convenient for us…' he added, nodding at the fallen tower. It formed some kind of a ramp, that led to the upper floor of the huge hall. This hall and the previous were in fact the same, the corridor they had followed wasn't much higher than twenty meters or so. Everything was on a scale the like of which none of them had really seen before.

'We should keep an eye out,' said Karliah, after having carefully looked around and considered what the Assassin had said. 'If some kind of quake really did alter the status of this place, certain pathways might be blocked.'

'Well, it's enough to follow the Falmer,' Azrael observed, pointing at one of them. That one stood on the top of a dwemer roof. 'For once, they are somewhat useful.'

'Do we take the low road or the high road then?' asked Brynjolf.

'High road. Come on. Karliah, bow at the ready. If you see a creature walking on six pods that looks like a disgusting cluster of chitin, kill it. Especially if it's big.'

'Because? What are they?' asked Bryn.

'Chaurus,' said Karliah.

'The ones that worry me are Chaurus Reapers,' explained the Assassin, lowering his voice and walking up the fallen tower. 'Bad guys, those. I sampled their venom with a friend from the Brotherhood, and it does terrible things. It melts internal organs and numbs the brain, casing paralysis. If, by any chance, you bump into one and need to kill it, be very wary of their mouth. They spit the poison.'

'Damage to internal organs and paralysis?' asked Karliah, suddenly more alive. 'Is there any way to replicate it?'

'I don't think. This friend of mine told me that they form the poison inside their bodies and it undergoes a half-digestion before it becomes harmful.'

'That's some keen observations. How long has this friend of yours been tackling with poison?'

'Almost three centuries.'

Karliah looked at Azrael, wondering how that was possible. The Assassin listened to her wondering silence and laughed under his breath.

'Was he another Dunmer?' she risked. 'An old one?'

'It's a she. And no. Vampire.'

'I guess that explains it…' she sighed with irony.

'Lad, have you…'

Brynjolf was rudely interrupted by a powerful tremor that ran through the ground. Azrael plunged the Blade of Woe in a fissure to keep himself standing, Karliah grabbed one of the external pillars of the tower and Brynjolf grabbed the hand the Assassin offered him. The quakes kept coming, and the already broken structures trembled menacingly. Pieces of the ceiling and of the buildings above crumbled down. A huge rock fell just beside Karliah, who rolled away just in time. Azrael lowered, without letting go of Brynjolf, and she grabbed his shoulder.

'Have mercy on us, Lady of Shadows…' Azrael heard her whisper.

The Assassin felt the quakes losing strength. Even though it didn't have anything to do with what happened, the timing made it look like Karliah's prayers had been answered. Azrael pulled Bryn up, making him stand, and then looked at the dense could of dust that had raised from the other side of the room. It had been no earthquake. A structure had collapsed, or fell on its side. Judging by the continues quakes, it was likely it had fallen against one of the rock wall and crashed against it gradually. The echo of the crash stopped coming back and forth after a few moments.

'That was painful,' Brynjolf said, spitting on the ground.

'The Falmer don't look to happy, either,' commented the Assassin helping Karliah and looking at the creatures running towards the source of the noise. 'It was a whole tower that fell down. I have the feeling…' he added, looking all the way at the other side of the hall. 'I think the path to the next chamber is blocked. We'll have to find another way. Let's push onward, we'll be able to tell soon enough.'

The way was clear. No Falmer in sight. They had gathered near the huge cloud of dust. The noise must have attracted them, and the powerful tremors also. Falmer had developed their hearing a lot, and the perception of vibration is heavily dependent on the inner ear. Nevertheless, they had all ran in the same direction the three were going in. Once they reached a high spot they saw what had happened.

'That entire tower collapsed,' said Brynjolf, pointing at the ruins.

'The only reason to do that would be to block pursuit. It must be Mercer,' hissed Karliah. 'We'll have to find another way around.'

Azrael looked at the ruins, and they completely blocked the entrance to the next chamber. It really was no coincidence. The suspect that all that devastation before them might have been Mercer's doing slowly made way into his head. After all, he was trying to slow them down enough to escape with the Eyes. Still, he wondered how exactly Mercer had been able to knock down that thing. Brynjolf took the words right out of his mouth, but the Assassin already had a guess.

'Mercer was able to knock this thing down? Gods…' the man murmured.

'It's the Key, Brynjolf,' explained Karliah, confirming Azrael's guess. 'In his hands, there's no telling what he's capable of.'


	24. A Defiler's End

'Damn, lad, we…'

'Quiet.'

'Wait…' whispered Karliah, turning around. 'I hear something.'

Azrael turned back, and stood still as if frozen. Brynjolf looked in his eyes and got distracted for a moment by their violet tint. He wasn't used to it. He turned, but stepped on a rock. A low squeak came from it, and the enormous Chaurus Reaper that stood in front on them moved on its six pods towards him. It perceived Brynjolf, impossible to say if he smelt him, sensed him or saw him. It moved his jaws, and prepared to spit the deadly poison it kept inside the body.

Before it could, an arrow pieced its left eye. Karliah had reacted as fast as she could, and probably saved Brynjolf from certain death. Azrael grabbed the Blade of Woe and dashed forward, slashing under the chitin-covered neck of the creature. The scale-like carapace cracked as it got sliced, and a stinking yellow substance began dripping from the cut. The creature let out a shrill screech, and Azrael saw no point in keeping tension inside. The Falmer had heard that anyway.

'Die!' he screamed, as he used the last tension left in his muscles to finish the sweep. The giant Chaurus fell dead at his feet.

Among screeches of angry Falmer and the devilish hissing of the other Chaurus, a horde of angry depth dwellers came to assault them. Azrael had just the time to turn at his two friends and quickly speak.

'No questions.'

The Chaurus was already on the point of spitting his venom, the Falmer had located their targets and were aiming arrows at them. Some were charging with their swords raised, others were coating their weapons with poison, doing curious movements both fluid and ungraceful. Only a blind could have done something like that. They were coming closer. Karliah had readied the bow but they were too many. Brynjolf had his two daggers at the ready, but nothing could have saved him from that. He doubted Azrael could have parried all of those hits, even after the stories of him parrying seven swings at the same time.

They needed a miracle.

Azrael lowered his mask with one, fluid motion. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the power coming naturally to his throat. Pure force rushed in his body, his mind let out energies that others wouldn't have been able to call for. In those moments the world seemed to change colors, and all appeared clear and distinct. No more doubts, no more questions, no more wondering. It conjured a specter of deeper understanding, which became conscious only for mere moments, as the meaning of pure thoughts and concepts became words. Or, precisely, became the Word. The Thu'um.

'Fus… Ro Dah!'

Damn, no questions was a hard order to follow. A blue circle of pure force erupted from the lips of the Assassin and his Voice thundered in the gloomy passageway. The Falmer were no match for the Voice of the Dragonborn. As soon as the wave of power reached them, their fates were sealed. It was as if an unnaturally strong gust had hit them. Their feet lost contact with the ground and they were all propelled backwards, towards the rocky walls covered in glowing mushrooms. While flying back, carried by the pitiless whim of the Thu'um, they dropped their weapons and forgot about everything that wasn't trying to save each his own hide. They landed against the wall, on the floor and against each other. Bones snapped aplenty, some died on impact, and some others were too confused to even understand what happened. Smells were confused, noises too.

Brynjolf and Karliah stood still as Azrael dashed forward, unsheathing Chillrend. He turned at them.

'Nocturnal's sake, do I have to do this on my own? Come on!'

The two exchanged glances and then charged off into battle. Their courage and stability of mind restored by the their leader's order, which had been spoken with his usual sarcastic tone. As he had said, no question. Time for action, the time for talk had long passed. Now we could quote Mercer without issues. That phrase rushed in Azrael's mind as he started swinging, right as he had said it back in Snow Veil Sanctum: 'It wasn't a fight. It was an execution!'

Fair enough.

The Assassin counted precisely seventeen Falmer in that room and one Chaurus. One was already gone. The giant insect lied on the ground, and was his first target. Chillrend traced a wide sweep, and its frosty edges severed the head of the beast without issues, almost as if the chitin was butter. It didn't kill with the elegant and gracious touch of the Blade of Woe, which killed in an almost tender way, like a lover who claims her price form the partner. Chillrend was a lot less subtle and gentle. It completely ravaged the tissues it touched, leaving only freezing and cauterized shards of flesh behind. Azrael felt the power of the blade as it hit flesh; he felt the magical strength contained in it flow out and gush in the form of a frosty touch.

Brynjolf reached his target moments later. One Falmer after another fell at the fury of his blades, while Karliah picked off the blinds that were managing to stand. The two of them eliminated threats, while Azrael continued to wreak havoc. As he slashed and swept, Chillrend seemed to operate on its own accord. Frost spread, chilling the air and feasting on the Falmer that came close, slowing them down and making the tumble helpless as their muscles stopped responding because of he cold. Ice covered the ground, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, and augmenting the effect. The massacre proceeded till the last of the Falmer fell to Chillrend, which plunged into the ribcage of the twisted Elf freezing his body and devastating his chest, gripping it in ice and crushing his ribs.

The battle was finally over. Azrael put Chillrend back in the sheath and casted an derisive glance at Brynjolf.

'So much for sneaking past without them noticing.'

'I bet that Chaurus staring right down at you gave you the chills,' chuckled Karliah.

'If anything gave me the chills, it was that weapon of yours,' replied Brynjolf, pointing at the sheath of Chillrend with a nod. 'And, lad, how in blazes can you use the Voice?'

'I said no questions, Bryn. Let's move on.'

The tunnel led down. Azrael didn't like the place. Water dripped from the ceiling. All those towers falling and collapsing had had a bad repercussion on those areas. One of the pipes that brought water had been recently cracked, and the stream it formed flowed peacefully along them. In felt like that entire place was about to crumble down on them without any kind of warning. The Assassin was calm, he knew that the further they went from the Dwarven city the lest they were in danger; still, he didn't feel safe. They reached a door.

'He's close,' said Karliah. 'I'm certain of it. We must prepare ourselves.'

'That fight gave me all the warming up I needed,' joked Brynjolf from behind.

'Served a purpose, then,' sneered the Assassin. 'Small relief, but I'll take it.'

He opened the door, and stopped suddenly.

 _Damn… Now this is one beautiful sight._ though Azrael, but then noticed a tiny detail. _Shame there's that idiot there… What is he even doing? He's mining out the eyes of a statue, Azura's grace. Mercer, Mercer, how low have you fallen…_

The statue was exactly like the one drawn on Gallus's plans, except it was a thousand times more detailed and pretty. Minor. In the end, the Thieves Guild didn't really care about the artistic value of the Eyes. It cared about its flat price, which was different as ice and fire. Everything is worth what is purchaser will pay for it. Nevertheless, the golden statue was truly stunning. The Snow Elves were a virtuous race, before the Dwemer transformed them into the Falmer. Other than that, huge pipes came up and down, in and out the room. Water dripped here as well, and there was already a lake of reasonable depth covering the floor.

Mercer, gripping the nose of the statue, was busy squeezing out the gems.

'He's here and he hasn't seen us yet,' whispered Karliah. Her voice trembled with excitement and hatred.

'Brynjolf, watch the door,' ordered Azrael.

'Aye, lad. Nothing's getting by me.'

'Azrael, climb down that ledge and see if you can…'

'Karliah, when will you learn you can get the drop on me?'

'Azrael!'

The Assassin lost his balance as the edge of the platform where they stood crumbled down. He grabbed a piece of rock mid flight and used the remaining strength to roll down on the ground, deliver some strength and jumping on his feet in one, fluid motion. He gestured Karliah that all was fine. Mercer climbed down, standing on the book the statue held in one hand. He faced him directly.

'When Brynjolf brought you before me I could feel a sudden shift in the wind,' he groaned, and Azrael remembered how much that tone managed to irritate him. 'And at that moment, I knew it would end with one of us at the end of a blade.'

'A sensitive thing… coming from you?' sneered the Assassin. He couldn't help but laugh at the angry tone of that petty defiler. 'I think I could cry. Listen, give me the Key and let's be done with this.'

'What's Karliah been filling your head with? Tales of thieves with honor? Oaths rife with falsehoods and broken promises? Nocturnal doesn't care about you, the Key or anything having to do with the Guild.'

'I'm no thief,' replied the Assassin. 'Besides, she might not care about me but she cares about you. More precisely, she cares about your demise.'

'You'll regret those words as you fall before me,' growled Mercer.

The Assassin laughed. His violet eyes sparkled.

'If anyone falls, it will be you.'

'Then the die is cast, and once again my blade will taste Nightingale blood!' he screamed. 'Ah, Karliah, I'll deal with you after I rid myself of your irksome companions. In the meantime, perhaps you and Brynjolf should get better acquainted.'

Azrael heard Brynjolf swing, and right after his worried voice.

'What… What's happening? I can't control myself.'

'Fight it, Brynjolf… he's taken control of you!' cried Karliah, parrying and backing off.

'I'm sorry, lass… I can't…'

'Damn you, Mercer!' Karliah yelled at him out of frustration.

 _One point to you…_ admitted Azrael, in his mind. _You've touched the sole thing I actually give a damn about in this room: my friends up there. That is one thing you pay dearly for touching._

The Assassin unsheathed Chillrend and ran in the water, which was shallow but still slowed him. Mercer waited for him. Azrael was amazed by how certain habits die very hard. If he had been in Mercer's place, he would have taken the bow and shot him in the neck. He, instead, had calmly waited for him to come to the over side of the water. It wasn't a sign of boldness, courage, honor or whatever, it was plain stupidity or insane confidence in one's own abilities. Or habit. Just different ways of reasoning, thinking, and planning. A different view of the fight and the battleground in its entirety.

Chillrend and the dwarven sword of Mercer crashed violently.

'You should be among the dead now. How did you survive my stab?' Mercer growled.

'I must be immortal.'

'You irritate me. You always were a thorn in the side. From the moment I looked you in those devilish red eyes of yours, I knew. Now Nocturnal has claimed even those.'

The violet eyes of the Assassin flared lilac, like Karliah's ones often did. Mercer growled, pushed against the sword of his enemy with the strength of his sheer anger. His plans had nearly been discovered, his secret nearly been exposed and now that every seemed to have gone right, for once, that Dunmer had once again come to stop him. The strange thing was that he was alive, in the first place. True, blood had not flown out of his wound for the few moments he had waited, but still, a stabwound like that should have killed anybody. If not killed, certainly prevented him from being active a few days later. Azrael was at the maximum of his strength, and seemed to have recovered perfectly. Mercer couldn't fathom how. It didn't matter much. He had made a mistake, and not again. This time, the Elf would have died.

The swords slid over one another and freed from the others' grip. Chillrend swept, leaving a trail of icy vapor in the air, and it clanged loudly against the dwarven sword. Mercer struck back, only to get his blow parried with a slip-second reaction. He felt the cold. He knew that weapon. The thought of taking it before departing had gone through his mind, but decided against it. He didn't plan for the Assassin to survive, that was all. Chillrend, the frost blade that he didn't really know how it had got to him. History lost track of it two centuries before. He knew that weapon. He knew its characteristics.

Up on the platform, Karliah still struggled against Brynjolf. The thief was slow for her, he was no fighter, but she didn't want to hurt him. He limped forward, slashed at her and then stepped back. At times, a spark of consciousness appeared in his shadowed eyes. The Dunmer didn't know what to do. She kept fighting, and she thought of putting a paralyzing arrow into a non-vital spot and ran down to help Azrael. She casted a glance down at the two whenever she could. Hadn't it been for the icy trail Chillrend left in the air, she wouldn't have seen the swings. They both moved fast, too fast to keep track of everything,

Down there, the Assassin was getting the rhythm right. The movements and motions of combat executed themselves, the very cells remembered and acted as he wanted. That left his mind time to reason, think and plan. He knew he was starting to have a light edge. He was dictating the series of their movements, controlling the flow of the combat. It was regular, though frantic and violent. Mercer struck with all the strength of his own anger, putting in it just enough precision to make the blow deadly. Azrael replied with calculated hits, that were supposed to hit with surgical precision, and then avoid the inevitable retaliation. Stab, parry. Swipe, parry. Thrust, sidestep. Swipe, parry. Sweep, dodge. The rhythm was starting to get regular, and he manipulated it to his own likes. Once he felt a sizable advantage, he broke the pace.

Thrust, dodge, and continue the same thrust into a stab.

Mercer backed, but too late. The icy tip of Chillrend pierced his shoulder and froze his muscle solid. His left arm turned immobile, as if paralyzed. The ice seemed to expand in his body, and the blade seemed to hiss balefully. That weapon loved the taste of flesh. It really seemed to have a will of its own. He retreated, but the Assassin walked towards him with stronger pace and way faster than he could backpedal. He tried again to fight, his rage giving him strength.

'Where did you get that?' he groaned, bending his head and dodging the sweep.

'From your basement,' answered the Elf, stepping back a bit.

'So you're a thief, after all. You fancy yourself the murderer, but you're truly a thief.'

'I prefer treasure hunter, but I guess I can be considered a thief. After all, Brynjolf has offered me the position of Guild Master.'

That looked like the worst thing to say, but it was actually smart. Azrael knew that Mercer pretended to dislike him, but deep in his heart he hated him. Envisioning him victorious and in the position Mercer himself had had for years made the defiler feel mad. The Assassin understood the successfulness of the attempt as he tasted the next blows of the man, which were so quick and strong they seemed imbued with hatred. As always, there's a win condition.

Azrael timed everything correctly. Parry, parry, backstep, charge, attack and swipe. Chillrend sank into the waist of the man. Azrael felt the frost of the blade spreading in Mercer's body, but from the angry stare of the man sparked something more than a light of ire. The Assassin tried to step back, but in vain. Chillrend was trapped in flesh. He didn't manage.

Karliah pushed back Brynjolf and looked terrified as a tendril of lilac mist came out of Mercer's body and hit Azrael directly. She knew. It was a power of the Nightingales, one that allowed them to drain away the life force of enemies and restore their own with it. Azrael staggered back, holding with both hands to Chillrend, and kneeling down on the ground. Mercer, with both arms functioning again and the wound of the side pretty much healed, laughed coarsely. He lunged at the Assassin, which managed to parry the hit despite his horrible condition. Life had been drained off him, and probably some things in his body were damaged as a result. The pain had to be immense.

And Azrael didn't feel that good, as a matter of fact.

 _Clever bastard…_ he thought, parrying Mercer's next hit at the last possible moment. _You'd think a thief knows no tricks but slicing left and right without method… Need to think of something, quick._

He tried his luck with an old move Veezara had taught him. 'This one is only for training, fun, or getting out of desperate situations,' he had said. It was quite fitting in that moment. The Assassin remembered, the movements executed themselves as every other technique he knew. His legs gave the thrust necessary, as his entire body slipped in between Mercer's legs. Chillrend grazed the defiler's boots, but didn't quite catch the flesh. The man reacted, trying to stab him while he was still on the ground, but Azrael parried and counterstruck. The icy blade reeled, this time touching warm flesh.

The quick riposte had wounded Mercer near the left knee. The fight, so ancestral and epic in theory, was beginning to look pathetic. The Mer, drained of life energy and barely standing on his feet, and the Man, limping like an old cripple. They ran at each other exchanging hits and parrying each other's blows. Dwarven metal crashed against malachite. Dull noises resounded every time the blades crossed, and shrill sounds resonated every time the edges slid over one another. It was an all in, by that point. They were both in horrible conditions, and with little chance of escape.

They kept trading hits. Mercer was beginning to tire. Since Chillrend had touched his muscles, he had began to feel more exhausted. He needed to put more strength in his hits to make them even remotely dangerous, and that cost him. He was breathing heavily. The Dunmer wasn't that much more lively. He rarely attacked, and mostly defended from Mercer's continuous blows. The more he weakened his adversary, the more he angered, and anger is an excellent anesthetic. Every time he parried, a wave of pain ran through his body. His heart beat very strong, he felt each pulse in his wrists.

Blind rage against cold calculation. That eternal struggle was undergoing another of its temporary battles.

Mercer, still whirling his blade without stopping, was advancing. He was pushing Azrael nearer to the edge of the book the statue held in one hand. Two, maybe two and a half meters more and he would have fallen down. Exhausted and injured, he would have never recovered from a fall like that. He needed to think of something. Fast. Not the first time he did that in that fight. He used a small pause between Mercer's hits to look around, and plan something. He looked back, and decided to risk it. Putting Chillrend forward with one hand, he checked where exactly in the bandoliers was the flask he needed. Third one.

And then, onto the trick. Azrael waited, and then jumped back. His feet landed right on the edge of the book. He couldn't back off anymore. Mercer, in a desperate attempt to hit him, raised his blade and tried an overhead attack. Behind the mask, the Assassin clenched his teeth in a hideous mix between a growl of pain and a grin. Chillrend bent, changed angle, and the dwarven sword slid on it. It didn't catch the Assassin, even while falling. Azrael spun, keeping Chillrend up and moving left, whirling the blade above his head to keep momentum and making one step to circle around Mercer, who was stumbling forward. The Assassin ended up behind him, as he intended. At the perfect moment, he grabbed Chillrend with both hands and landed a diagonal slash with all his strength. The blade cut from the right armpit of Mercer all the way down to left waist.

A chilling, gaping wound opened on Mercer's back.

The man staggered forward, falling off the book of the statue. He landed somewhat on his feet, but fell to the ground flat on his chest. Ironic as it may be, but blood was not flowing off the back wound either, much like Azrael's when he had gotten stab in Snow Veil Sanctum. This time, however, the wound was horrible. It wasn't bleeding because the ice of Chillrend had cauterized it.

'Oh no… it will never end like this!' Mercer growled.

Suddenly, without any rational explanation, he turned invisible in a violet flash.

'Azrael, watch out!' Karliah cried from the platform, while still giving Brynjolf something to think about. 'He'll get you if you're not careful!'

The Assassin didn't answer, and instead followed intently with his gaze every possible route Mercer could have taken. He brought a hand near to the bandolier, but he gave up. Drinking the potion in that moment was far too dangerous. The time he would have needed to drink was more than enough for Mercer to land a deadly hit. So he kept looking, barely batting his eyelids. 'There is no such things as turning completely invisible,' Babette had explained him; 'we only know how to make solid matter transparent, to cause the light to ignore any collision with it. However, light still gets deformed as it goes through a body, due to its solid nature. Look hard enough, and you'll see the invisible,' Azrael, mindful of that lesson, didn't give up the search until he spotted a strange shimmering silhouette coming right towards him.

'Mercer, do you remember when we went to Snow Veil Sanctum?' he said, pretending to not know where he was. 'Do you remembered what I did after the fight with the Dragon Priest? I looked at that wall with Dragon Words on it, and you wondered what I was doing.'

Karliah didn't see Mercer, but assumed Azrael had got a plan. She had managed to grab Brynjolf from behind and she kept him still in her grasp, her arms strongly encircling his neck. She waited for Mercer or Azrael to die before she made her next move. One things was for certain: something decisive was about to happen. Mercer had played all his trump cards, using all three of the powers of a Nightingale: taking control of another, conjuring a claw of draining strength to hurt an enemy, and make oneself invisible. There were no more tricks at his disposal. Azrael stood on the book of the statue, with Chillrend in his hand and dandling down. He looked at the ceiling, focused, cloaked in shadow and shrouded in death. Karliah held with all her strength as Brynjolf swayed to free himself. She wanted to see the end of that fight. Nothing would have taken the pleasure away from her.

'Know what? I feel like demonstrating that to you,' said the Assassin.

He turned, lighting-fast, towards the shimmering figure of Mercer, crawling on both his legs and hands towards him. The Voice thundered again. One Word only, but still enough to make the hall tremble. The rocks of the ceiling quaked, some fell to the ground.

'Zun!'

Azrael watched Mercer reappearing all of a sudden, as the bond that allowed him to stay invisible had been broken by the power of the Shout. Zun, roughly translated as weapon. The weapon loses contact with its possessor and gets thrown away from him. The dwarven blade of Mercer flew across the chamber and landed, dandling, on the floor by the other side.

Everything happened very fast after that: Azrael dashed against the defenseless man, disarmed and too confused to do anything. He couldn't even stand up. His hatred only numbed his mind now. Chillrend slashed his shoulder, and he fell flat on the ground again. He turned around, and lied on his back, raising a hand towards Azrael. He felt a cold chill spreading across his body. He knew that, once it had reached the heart, he would have died. He knew, but didn't recall and didn't care. Everything was rage, anger and hatred. He looked at the blurred outlines of the black figure standing above him.

'One stab,' the Assassin tittered. 'Now we're even.'

The cold crept up to one of his lungs.

'Shadows…' murmured Mercer. 'Shadows take me…'

'I really hope they don't.'

Azrael put Chillrend in the sheath, and grabbed the Blade of Woe. He plunged it into the man's heart. It seemed fitting. Once, Astrid had tried to exploit him and paid the price. Now, Mercer had tried to exploit him and paid the price. It seemed fitting that both died by the hand of the same person, and their lives were ended by the tender touch of the same blade. A fine red mist seemed to come out of the wound and twirl around the blade.

Karliah suddenly felt Brynjolf giving up the attempt to free himself. The man inhaled deeply, and sighed. However, there was little time for being sentimental right now. A booming crash of a rock falling and shattering on the side of the chamber reminded Karliah that the entire hall was coming down on their heads.

'Damn it, this place is coming down!' she cried, letting go of Brynjolf. 'Quick, get the Skeleton Key and the Eye and let's get out of here!'

Azrael took off the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped the two, rosy gems Mercer carried in a small leather bag attached to his belt. Karliah saw him taking something from Mercer's pockets, and the shape of the Skeleton Key immediately caught her eye. She turned towards Brynjolf, who had recovered magnificently from the brief possession and was trying to open the door. In vain.

'No luck there, lass,' he screamed, covering the noise of a rock falling. 'Something must have fallen on the other side of the door because it isn't moving!'

'We have to find another way out of here before the place fills with water!'

Because it was filling with water. Azrael took the wrapped Eyes of the Falmer under his arm and looked around. The rocks that fell had broken the pipes, and water was being poured in the room. More boulders kept crashing down, but even more were falling in the water and increasing its level even further. Azrael took everything he could from Mercer's body, including some bottles with potions inside and various riches he had brought along for the expenses of the journey. Nobody would have used them, if his body disappeared under the water.

Another rock fell, and another pipe broke open. The platform where Karliah and Brynjolf had been completely submerged, and now it reached the Assassin feet. Azrael hated water, but hated even more the idea of drowning there after all the hard work he had done. Still, there was no way through. Nothing he could see allowed them to escape. He refused to believe it.

'There's no escape!' cried Karliah.

'There's always a way,' commented Azrael, holding the Eyes safe under his armpit and swimming to the surface of the water with his legs alone.

 _Now, now… There has to be an exit,_ thought the Assassin. _No way the lake above doesn't have any other outlets. Or maybe there's a way out that goes through some cracks and caves. If they resigned to pipes, there has to be a reason. Okay, maybe that's one._

The rocks he had spotted seemed rather unstable. They were right above him, no wonder he hadn't seen them yet. There was no light coming from beyond them, so they had to lead into a tunnel. They were already shaking.

 _All they need is a little… Encouragement. Now, this is going to be difficult._

He grabbed the bow from his back, and an arrow from his quiver. It was difficult. He was still ravaged by that strange magic Mercer had used on him. But he needed to do something. He grabbed the arrow that he had taken from the Falmer. There was no way of recovering it, and using a good one was a waste. He drew the bow as far as he could without drowning, and released the shot. He knew that was risky, and things went almost as bad as he could imagine.

The arrow grazed a small cluster of smaller stones and gravel, which destabilized and fell down. The bigger rocks and boulders also slid down into the water, raising high waves. Several, however, fell right on him. The Assassin just about managed to swim away, but the edge of the first stone crashed on the hand holding his elven bow. The impact snapped both the bow and his metatarsus. Another rock fell down, and this time it hit him in the back. Another on his other arm, yet another on his leg.

 _The bones shattering is an incredible sensation…_ he thought, feeling waves of unspeakable pain flowing through him. _Delphine would lecture me to death that I need to save the world instead of saving others right now. Well… I don't really care about what happens to the world once I'm dead._

A muffled growl of pain escaped him, and it strangely sounded like a sad laugh.

'Brynjolf, go and save yourself! I'll help him!' screamed Karliah.

'No way, lass. I'm helping.'

'We could die, Bryn.'

'So be it, then.'

The two Nightingales swam towards their unofficial leader, friend and the one who had just saved then and accomplished their mission in their name. They grabbed him by the armpits and dragged him in the huge hole the avalanche had opened. Azrael weakly moved his legs and gripped the Eyes strongly, still contributing to the success of the mission in any way he could. His determination was unparalleled, and probably prevented him from dying. His friends did the rest. That was the last characteristic that defines a true and born leader. His friends and allies would go to Oblivion and back to save him, if anything because they need him. In that case specifically, both Karliah and Bryn owed him that much.

Finally, they got to dry land.

They didn't see anything. Aside from weak rays of light coming from holes above, there was complete darkness. Azrael raised a trembling hand and a weak magical light slipped out of his fingers, before their lost their tension and his arm fell right back on the ground. Brynjolf arched an eyebrow in admiration before returning his attention to his friend.

'Azrael!' called out Karliah. 'Azrael, don't die now!'

'Just stop screaming…' he hissed, breathing heavily. 'You've got only one mouth and two, rather long ears… So listen more and talk less.'

True to himself and his cynical sarcasm even on the brink of death. Karliah couldn't help but chuckle.

'Listen…' whispered the Assassin. 'Third bandolier, there's a red flask… I need to drink it. Don't… Azura, why am I saying you not to touch me? You know how to pickpocket people without them noticing…'

Karliah, with years of expertise and training in her fingers, picked the red flash from the bandolier without him even noticing. She might have presented him the first mission when they had to return something to the rightful owner, but he just demonstrated her that the fairy touch of the master thief can be used for saving lives. His ribs were probably crushed, any touch on them could have shifted them and grazed the heart. The incredible thing was that he had not fainted from the pain. His resistance was incredible.

Karliah poured the crimson fluid in his mouth. He snarled with every time he swallowed.

When the bottle was empty Azrael lied down on the ground. He breathed deeply, and closed his violet eyes.

'Brynjolf…' he murmured. 'You're taking the Eyes back to the Guild. Give them to Delvin, and discuss with him what to do. Karliah… I'd like you to stay here with me. You'll tell me what to do with the Skeleton Key. After…'

Silence.

'After what?' she asked.

'After…' the Assassin whispered, tittering. 'After I have some rest.'

And after having given instructions to his friends, saved them and taken the mantle of the leader even in that state, he conceded himself the privilege to faint.


	25. Flawless

'Lady of Shadows, watch over him.'

Karliah lowered her head and rested her chin on her own chest. One of the two torches was running out of oil, and she didn't have any more to fuel it with. Its light had begun to diminish around an hour before. She counted, thinking of how much time she had spent in that cavern watching over the Azrael. Three. Three days had passed. She seldom drank, barely ate and slept very little. All she could do was wait. She didn't know what else to do. She didn't want to leave him there unprotected. Nothing could have harmed him if she just went to the entrance of the cave, but she didn't trust anything with the Assassin lying there on the ground, motionless.

Three days. Azrael hadn't opened his eyes since he passed out just after escaping. Karliah checked every hour if he was still alive, and the beat of his heart was always very slow and regular. The slowness was normal; he was a trained killer and used to fatigue. The heart is a muscle, just like all the others. The more you train it, the better it performs. The regularity was good also. It meant everything was working as it should have.

Karliah had tried to figure out what kind of potion he made her give him, but guessed it was a normal healing potion. She thought of one of those mixtures that alter the status and life functions of the body, which work a bit like a coma. That didn't seem to be the case, though. Azrael was just sleeping, absurd as it may sound. The pain and the exhaustion could have tired him enough to make him fall into that slumber. Still, it was quite funny. Karliah knew well that healing potions, the ones that are designed to regenerate tissues, sinews and bones ask for a heavy toll on the body. The energy used to repair his organs might have been so much he couldn't stay awake in the meanwhile. The damage had been large, and it was a miracle that he was healing so quickly. Karliah had softly touched him where the major wounds were, and the bones seemed intact. He had also stopped emitting that horrific sound when breathing. A Draugr sounded way less intimidating than the he did when breathing after falling asleep.

Right after he had passed out, Karliah insisted Brynjolf returned to the Guild and reorganized things. At first, he didn't want to hear any of it. 'My place is here with the lad', he had said. They argued, raised their voices even. They didn't care about waking up Azrael, he was sleeping so deeply it just wasn't going to happen. Karliah played her last card two hours later. She reminded Bryn that Azrael himself wished him back at the Guild, managing business. That had been his last wish. He was to return to the Guild, and she to watch over him. That had been his desire. Brynjolf gave in at the mention, grabbed the Eyes of the Falmer, saddled Frost and departed.

Karliah had been completely alone ever since. Azrael's presence was strange while out like that. Ironically, she felt he was much more noticeable and visible while in that state rather than awake. While awake he carefully avoided catching others' attention. Like that, he couldn't. He just lied there, in the exact same spot where he passed out three days before. She hadn't had the courage to move him away, and she doubted she could move him without dragging him around like a sack. So she found a comfortable place in the stones, and sat, day and night; she thought, casted glances at him, and then started reconsidering her life choices one by one. Staying alone for three days, without anything to do, in the company of someone that is everything by awake, now that is something that drives people nuts. Karliah had started to notice that.

Despite that, she endured everything. She was cold, hungry and her eyelids were heavy as lead, but she never gave in. Every time she heard her belly screeching she turned towards Azrael and thought of the sarcastic 'Eat, Azura's sake! You won't save anyone by starving, especially not me,' or the 'Have some food, you narcissistic lassie. Your figure doesn't need to improve one bit,' that would have surely come out of his mouth if only he had been awake. The thought made her grin and forget her hunger, and that would play out every few hours.

Sometimes she got lost in thought. She thought of the Guild, of Gallus, of Mercer. Of the fact that it was all over. She found herself remembering moments of her and Gallus together, and realized only after a while that hot tears were coming down her cheeks. Remembrances came back, strong, and she didn't feel ready to confront them still. Mercer Frey was dead, but what she had done and, more importantly, what she had failed to do couldn't be erased from her memory or from facts. Even if her victory was complete and from there on there was only one task to carry out, she fell deeper into despair with each passing hour.

In her tries to avoid thinking, she looked at Azrael and thought how much he had done for her. From the moment they had met till now. It amazed her how a person like him, apparently cynical and self-centered to the rotten core, could save his friends by almost sacrificing his own life. A stupid observation, truly. She could hear the Assassin's voice in her head: 'Nonsense. Think. Use that greyish matter Azura kindly stuffed in your head. If I didn't try and open that thing, we would have all died. So… You know. I would have died either way;' and maybe, were he awake, a simpler 'Well, I'm not dead so that's just plain stupid and useless to think about. Stop consuming your brain in these things. It might turn out to be useful some other time,' said with his usual, glacial, sarcastic tone that he never set aside, even in the face of death.

Karliah liked Azrael. She really did.

* * *

Darkness.

Silence.

Azrael opened his eyes with a great deal of effort. They ached beyond measure. The most disappointing things was that, once he had completely opened them, he saw something very familiar: more darkness. He moved his head a little, and the nape of his neck was touching hard and cold stone. His ears were functioning, since he heard the dripping of some water. After that, however, he sensed something very familiar indeed: even more silence. His mouth was pasted as if someone had stuffed glue in it. He had difficulties moving his tongue even. He awaited for a couple of heart beats, and sensed his whole body. Nothing was missing, and everything seemed to be functioning.

 _Damn…_ he thought, slowly moving his fingers. _Last time I've been this bad was after awakening in that shack with Astrid. Curses… Everything is so stiff, and I'm lying in the same exact position I was in when I passed out… Did they seriously leave me here to plat roots? Sheesh._

He tried to draw his legs closer to him, maybe bend them, but the quadriceps straight up refused to move a single inch. Sighing under his breath and sneering at himself, he tried to move his hands more. Every movement cost him a lot of effort. He wasn't tiring, mind you, but he struggled to move every fiber of his muscles. Inside his wet boots, the toes slowly started to move. The fingers were alright. Now that they worked, there was no reason to remain in that darkness. It's not like that he didn't like darkness, but he needed to know where he was or with who he was.

 _Come on…_ he encouraged his own fingers, but to little avail. He stopped, and breathed. _Shouldn't too difficult to perform a banal Candlelight charm… Damn the Daedra, it feels like I've been lying here for days. By Azura, it may actually very well be. I don't know what exactly was broken, but I remembered feeling quite beaten up before fainting. If the wounds were severe, there's no telling how long I slept. I hope the others aren't too… To Oblivion, they would never, ever get angry at me. How boring of them. Fine, you can do this, fingers…_ he tried again, and this time he felt Magicka flowing normally in his arm. _Come on, Candlelight, daddy needs you._

It worked.

A small, weak ball of light slowly took shape in his palm, smacked faintly and then raised in the air just above his face. It wasn't powerful enough to blind him, and allowed him to see that he was still in a cave. He saw something moving, but before he could make hypothesis the moving thing made it really clear that she knew everything.

'Azrael!'

'Please, don't scream…' hissed the Dunmer, instinctively moving his hands to his ears but ending up moving the former by a couple of millimeters. He inhaled as the wave of pain that had ran in his head vanished. The noise had been too loud. He looked forward, without managing to move his neck from the ground. He tittered. 'Karliah, the sentinel. Didn't know you were this good and guarding things. How long have you been waiting for me to awake?'

'Four days now,' she answered, and her faint and sharp voice made him feel better. However, the content of the phrase didn't.

'Four? Aedra and Daedra…' whispered the Assassin, seeing no reason to not believe her. 'What have you been doing?'

'Waiting for you to get up,' she said, coming closer to him and kneeling beside him. 'Come on, time to get you seated. Not on your feet, not yet, but you should sit.'

'You were there…' he said, tittering and struggling to raise his neck from the rock, 'waiting for me to awake? Never seen that before. If we don't count Snow Veil Sanctum, that is.'

Karliah did not say a thing. She put both her hands beneath his back and lifted him up just enough to move him. Azrael's muscles weren't that responsive still. He helped by moving his feet as much as he could and putting his hands of the ground, trying to help Karliah lift him. He quickly gave up, noticing that the biceps didn't move. Everything above his wrist seemed to be paralyzed. Karliah managed on her own, bringing him closer to the wall and putting him down in a way that his head was against the wall and slightly raised. The Assassin never surrendered, and continued to move that much he could of his body, with very mediocre results at first.

 _Only four days of sleep can explain it,_ he thought. _Why weren't there any lights on when I awoke, by the way? Did she have not torches with her?_ he wondered, looking up as the Candlelight floated above him and illuminated Karliah.

She had taken her hood off. Azrael realized that it was the first time he saw her without any kind of cowl. Her hair were straight, a bit rough, and brown. A very dark, beautiful brown, and yet slightly lighter than the color of her eyebrows. Those were dark to the point that, in darkness, they looked straight up black. Her violet eyes shimmered a bit at the weak bright of the magical charm, her long eyelashes gave her gaze a strange intensity. Her expression was stern, but that didn't conceal the simple, honest beauty that irradiated from it. Azrael risked raising an eyebrow, hoping it would have stayed hidden underneath the hood. It did.

'How are you feeling?' she asked, still kneeling down beside him.

'Stiff. But rather well. Before we lose ourselves in banal niceties, the important things. Brynolf?'

'He grabbed Frost and went back to the Guild,' she told him. 'Just as you asked. He brought the Eyes of the Falmer with him. He'll be back in Riften by tomorrow, I think. He'll keep the Guild together until you return there.'

'My weapons?'

'Still fastened to your belt. Both the sword and the dagger. Your bow… Well…'

'My bow was shattered…' he sighed, rolling his eyes. 'Damn the Daedra, that was a masterpiece. The better smith in Skyrim helped me string that thing.'

'I can't give it back to you,' she said. 'However, I can give you mine.'

She grabbed her bow with both hands, unfastened it and put it between her and him. Azrael looked at her, then at the weapon, and then at her again. He had looked several times at that bow while it hanged on her back, and he guessed that was also a masterpiece. The wood, and it was some hard wood by the look of it, was strengthened with ebony. The grip was wrapped with a soft, black cloth that rendered it pleasing to the touch. The Assassin also had the strong suspect it had been forged using magic. Karliah often managed to draw it beyond the point where it looked possible. There had to be some incantation that prevented it from snapping in half.

 _Fine… What should I say now? It's not exactly a gift I can accept just like that, but what of it? She offered me, out of her own will. The thought of what she could say to me if I refused gives me a headache. Saving peoples lives has some dreadfully annoying drawbacks…_

'How about… No?' he said.

'I'll never accept that from you. Not after having saved my life,' she replied, but Azrael knew better than that. She wouldn't have given him that weapon just because of that. And right he guesses, because he kept on explaining. 'Plus, this is also an advance. I need to ask you a favor.'

 _That sounds more like it… Now, let's see what our little Nightingale wants me to do…_

'Since you killed Mercer…' she began, taking her gaze away from his eyes. 'Well, things haven't been the same. The truth is that I can't believe it's over. Twenty-five years in exile and just like that, it's done. All that remains is to ensure the safe return of the Skeleton Key.'

'And what of it?' he asked. 'Sounds easy, if not straight up boring.'

'I'm afraid it's not that simple. When the Skeleton Key was stolen from the Twilight Sepulcher, our access to the inner sanctum was removed. We need to get there to restore the link Nocturnal has with our world. The only way to bring it back will be through the Pilgrim's Path.'

'Which is something you've clearly never used.'

'It wasn't created for the Nightingales. It was created to test those who wished to serve Nocturnal in other ways. As a consequence, I have no knowledge of what you'll be facing.'

 _Hmm… I know where this is going and I don't like it one bit,_ Azrael said to himself. _I knew she wouldn't have given me that priceless thing in exchange for something very difficult. Well, at least I'm not in for boring stuff, it seems._

'So… I'm the one going, right?'

'I…' she began, but stopped. She shook her head before continuing. 'I can't bear to face Nocturnal after my failure to protect the Key. I'm afraid you'll have to face the end of your journey alone. This is why I offered you the bow. I'm not certain if it will help within the walls of the Sepulcher, but I certainly don't need it as much as you. I've had it almost my entire life, and it's never let me down. I hope it brings you the same luck.'

'You're afraid, are you?'

'Of course I'm afraid,' she immediately said, not even trying to hide it. 'I've been a Nightingale for a very long time. I sold my allegiance to Nocturnal in exchange for many profitable years of thieving. Falling in love with Gallus was wrong. It was a distraction that allowed the Sepulcher to be desecrated and it likely cost him his life. Until the Key is returned, I will never set foot inside that place again.'

'Don't blame yourself,' said the Assassin, his voice glacial.

'Who should I blade instead?' she asked. 'I was the one blinded by that relationship. I allowed Gallus to be killed, just because I was too lost with him. Sometimes the voice of reason told me that it was too beautiful to last. It was my fault.'

'It wasn't.'

'Whose was it, then?' she asked again, raising her voice a little.

'Gallus's.'

Karliah was on the point of bursting of anger and surprise at that. It was impossible in her mind, but the Assassin had understood exactly that. He had understood her sweet spot, just from that.

 _Her love for Gallus numbed her mind, true, but not when she watched him die. It's now that that love is getting pathologic, simply because its object is no longer existent. In a way, she can't shift the blade on him because the reconstruction she made of him in her mind is of a perfect man. A man who Gallus never was and never will be. That seems messed up, but she's in love with someone that never really existed._

'How?' she asked, lowering her gaze and still refusing to look at him in the eyes.

'Gallus lost his life because of his principles. He knew Mercer Frey was the culprit, but didn't have any proof of it. He was a Nord, he had been educated that "without proof there's no justice, only murder," as a friend of mine often says. That might seem right, but come on. You're a Dunmer like me. You know that's inconvenient.'

'What should have he done?'

'Kill him, maybe?' laughed the Assassin.

Karliah felt astounded by the simple situation they were in. She had always believed that the positions of people in a space has an important influence on their presence and spirit. A person in a physical position of weakness will automatically act as such. That paradigm got reversed as she looked at the Assassin, lying pretty much helpless on the floor and managing to move his fingers at most. Still, he was guiding the flow of the discussion and making her feel so small in his presence that she felt crushed. His words were a lot heavier on her conscience than her own "voice of reason", as she called it. She struggled to find the right thing to reply.

'That wouldn't have suited him. He had his principles, but also his strategies. One of them was that, under any circumstance, you mustn't behave like your enemy. Mercer used treachery, and he planned to erase it with the justice of the Guild.'

'See how well that turned out…'

His sarcasm was destructive. It didn't only deny her reasons, it even made her feel stupid. Every time he said something, that something proved her wrong with a few, incisive, and caustic words. His tone poked holes in her viewpoint, and showed her the weaknesses in her reasoning without even pinpointing them very clearly. It was just devastating. She played the last of her cards.

'Azrael, I loved him! Blazes, I still do! The fact that he remained true to his means and died because of it made me love him more! Do you know what you truly love of someone? No, how could you…'

'One's flaws,' Azrael cut her off, his voice cold as ice.

Karliah stopped and didn't really know how to continue. She assumed he knew nothing about love, but strangely enough he did. She couldn't guess where that knowledge came from, but he certainly possessed it. Nevertheless, she wanted to conclude her short monologue, just to be very clear with him and spit right in his face the first real compliment she said to him.

'Yes, that's the point,' she continued. 'Gallus was a pragmatic man, and it was that that I liked of him. You… You almost have no principles, you never say anything about morals and you never, ever do something wrong. Everything I've seen you do ended up being either a success or a total success. You have no flaws, or you don't show any. I've told you time and time again that you remind me of Gallus, but that's the difference between the two of you. I… I just can't love you.'

She looked at him. Absolutely everything she had to say had been said. There were no more secrets, no more unsaid truths. She feared how he would have reacted, but as soon as his head shifted a little and his ice-cold stare met her gaze, she remembered with who she was talking. One with no flaws. One that knows everything all and judges nothing. The inevitable conclusion to that exchange was a sarcastic comment. Azrael had no problems delivering.

'You can't even imagine,' he said, shaking his head imperceptivity, 'how relieved I am to hear that.'

* * *

'So,' he said, slowly moving his legs. 'Tell me more about this Pilgrim's Path I'm going to go down.'

'As I said, I know quite little. It was designed for others. Even though Nocturnal doesn't desire worship in the traditional sense, the Twilight Sepulcher propagated a small group of priests. Of course, they'd never come into direct contact with Nocturnal but they insisted they had her favor. As part of their… "duties", the priests created all sorts of baseless rituals and ceremonies all on Nocturnal's behalf.'

Karliah wrapped her arm around his shoulders again and aided him while Azrael moved his first steps. She had insisted he rested a little bit more, but he replied that time was short and that he would have recovered while on horseback. They came out of the cave, while discussing the lasts details. The Assassin was still quite doubtful.

'These priests… They didn't interfere with the Nightingales in any way?'

'They weren't threat to the Skeleton Key or the conduit to Nocturnal's realm, so they were tolerated. One of their ceremonies involved the Pilgrim's Path, a so called test of worthiness. If a pilgrim was able to complete the path, it was said that they would become one with the shadows. What that means is anyone's guess.'

'Whatever it is, doesn't sound too inventing. Tell me more about this conduit you mentioned.'

'The conduit to Nocturnal's realm, the realm of Evergloam, has been in Skyrim... well, longer than recorded history. The Twilight Sepulcher was constructed around it by Man and Mer in order to shield it from those who would exploit its power. It's through this conduit that we're given Nocturnal's greatest gift, our luck. What she gains in return is a complete mystery.'

'Well, they don't call her Queen of Murk for nothing. She really is quite shadowy.'

The snowflakes began falling on their hoods as soon as they walked out in the open. Both of them breathed deeply, filling their lugs with fresh air. Well, frigid air. Azrael looked around, and then whistled; in a very specific way. A loud neigh came from somewhere in front of them, and the soft noise of hooves hitting the snow came not too long afterwards. The black shape of Shadowmere appeared beyond the undergrowth and the trees without leaves.

The huge beast slowed, came closer and rubbed her head against Azrael's chest with happy snorts.

'I missed you too, girl,' said the Assassin, raising his hand and grabbing just about the back of the horse. Karliah gave him a little push, and he was up. She jumped on the back of the horse, behind him, and checked he could hold the hair of the horse. He managed.

The Assassin hit her with his boot, gently. She moved forward.

'Come on,' he said. 'To Falkreath, sweet.'


	26. Bondless

Two unlit braziers stood guard in front of the entrance. The door was built following the ancient Nordic style, and was made of iron. The small stream swashed behind them, and the tall rock over them loomed menacingly. Karliah casted nervous glances around, feeling uneasy, while the Assassin slowly walked towards the door. He still limped a little bit, even after the whole day on horseback. Not that fourteen hours of galloping do wonders for your legs, either way. He was able to walk on his own, at the very least. He looked at the inscriptions on the door, but they were all worn out and unreadable. He turned at her sister in blood, putting hand on the pommel of Chillrend.

'So, this is where we split up?'

'Yes. I'll join you once you're done. I… Sorry.'

'You've told me already,' he sneered. 'See you.'

Azrael opened the heavy door and closed it shut behind him. Karliah looked as he disappeared behind the metal portal, and looked for somewhere to sit. She found a rock that seemed suitable, and fell on it. She lowered her head, while guilt and fear strangled her in their own strife. She casted one more glance at the door, and then buried her face in her hands. The conversation with Azrael after he woke up had been frank and sincere, but there was a last piece of the puzzle that still didn't fit. Now, she wondered what that could be.

Ironically enough, Azrael ran into it not too far off into the ruin.

 _A lantern…_ he noticed, upon entering. _A lit one, at that. Someone has been here, and recently. Got to stay on guard, you never know what sort of filth might dwell here. If they are half as bad as the idiots the Thieves Guild's allies with… Well, it's enough to make them terrible._

The small passageway ended in a larger hall, also built following an ordinary Nordic style. There were archways in the middle, a set of stairs on the opposite side and a whole line of braziers. Braziers that were lit, and burned bright. Someone had been there very recently. If anything, that mysterious someone wasn't the shimmering figure that stood still near the stairs at the end of the room. The Assassin put a hand on the Blade of Woe, but quickly realized that the phantom had seen him and that it hadn't attacked him still. That was unexpected, but rather reassuring.

 _Ghosts now… Daedra, this is becoming quite the strange tale. Is he…? Yeah, he's wearing the Nightingale suit of armor. Must be a guardian spirit or some other oddity of that such._

'I don't recognize you,' said the specter, completely skipping greetings, 'but I sense that you're one of us. Who are you?'

'Could ask the exact same thing of you.'

'The last of the Nightingale Sentinels, I'm afraid,' the ghost explained, in a solemn tone. 'I've defended the Sepulcher alone for what seems like an eternity.'

'Last? And what of the others? On vacation?'

'We were betrayed by one of our own kind. In fact, I'm to blame for what's happened here.'

'I know something about the first bit,' said the Assassin, as the pieces started falling into place. 'However, I can't see why you should be to blade. You're the only one standing here and doing what you're supposed to.'

'I was blinded. Blinded by dark treachery masquerading as friendship. Perhaps if I had been more vigilant, then Mercer Frey wouldn't have lured me to my fate and stolen the Skeleton Key.'

 _Fine, fine, fine… Wait a blasted moment. If this is really happening, I'll never stop bringing this up with Karliah till the end of my days._

'Don't tell me you're Gallus…' sighed the Assassin.

'I haven't heard that name in a long time,' the ghost replied, implicitly answering the question. 'How do you know of me?'

'People. I have the Key, Gallus.'

'The Key!' the ghost repeated, and his voice echoed strangely in the room. 'You have the Skeleton Key! I never thought I'd see it again. And Mercer Frey?'

'Dead.'

'Then… it's over and my death wasn't in vain. I owe you a great deal, Nightingale.'

'I did it for a friend.'

'For someone in our line of work, that is a reason most noble. You've shown yourself and the Guild that honor can be found even amongst us. My only regret is that you had to undertake this task alone.'

'Not alone. That friend of mine helped me. I think you might actually know her,' the Assassin grinned. 'Some fella named Karliah.'

'Karliah…' the phantom screamed suddenly, and his voice echoed strangely in the hall. 'But of course I know her! She's still alive? I feared she'd befallen the same fate, ending up a victim of Mercer's betrayal.'

'She didn't. Now we can take the Key back whence it came.'

'Nothing would bring me more pride than to return the Key, but I'm afraid it's impossible. From the moment I arrived here, I've felt myself… well, dying.'

'A spirit? You mean fading.'

'Yes. The Sepulcher isn't merely a temple or a vault to house the Key. Within these walls is the Ebonmere… a conduit to Nocturnal's realm of Evergloam. When Mercer stole the Key, that conduit closed, severely limiting our ties to her.'

'Long story short is that I'll have to go alone.'

'I'm afraid so. I'm weakening, and I can feel myself slipping away. The years without restoration of my power have taken their toll. Whatever damage has been caused can only be corrected by following the Pilgrim's Path to the Ebonmere and replacing the Key.'

'Both you and Karliah talk a good deal about this Pilgrim's Path. Do you happen to know anything specific?'

'I wish I could help you, but I've been a prisoner in this very chamber for the last quarter century. The only possible help I've come across are the remains of some poor fellow who was trying to follow in your footsteps. Perhaps his journal can help?'

'I do hope. See you, Gallus.'

* * *

 _A cripple going through a path used by Pilgrims, who supposedly walk a lot. Well, temporary cripple really. Still, it's quite funny. What did that dead guy write? "_ _Shadows of their former selves, sentinels of the dark. They wander ever more and deal swift death to defilers._ _" Well, could mean those purple shadows over there._

There were two shimmering figures standing in the room. One by a door that led somewhere else, and another sitting at the bottom of a set of stairs. The door there seemed to be the right one. Azrael waited patiently, seeing how the ghosts behaved. A ghost is controlled by magic, and even Daedric magic has to create a kind of scheme on which they act. It's far easier to predict the movements of a ghost than of a human. Those two seemed to be guarding different things. The first one often disappeared from sight, and the other one sat down staring at the door. The Assassin knew at once that he would have had to kill one of them. He hoped a backstab would have sufficed.

He crawled down the stairs as soon as the first shadow disappeared. A backstab did indeed suffice.

He walked onward.

Other trials were ahead of him. Those paths weren't built for the Nightingales, as both Karliah and Gallus had liked to point out. With nothing but the clues of the journal he found and his own intellect, the Assassin pressed forward. All the trails tested his metal in various ways.

 _Yeah… The metal of a cripple. Honor on you, Lady of Shadows._

In the second room awaited another test. "Above all they stand, vigilance everlasting. Beholden to the murk yet contentious of the glow," was written in the journal. The room was illumined in areas, and there was only one, continuous path that was shrouded in darkness. Whoever build that thing had a keen sense for the use of lights and shadows. The Assassin just had to stick to the shade, and no harm was done to him. He limped, almost stumbling on a tripwire he found near him. He cut one for curiosity, and a hail of darts came from the walls. Those traps rivaled the dwarven ruin's ones in cleverness, although not even remotely in cruelty.

"Offer what She desires most, but reject the material," said the third phrase. "For her greatest want is that which cannot be seen, felt or carried." Azrael looked at the statue in the middle, surrounded by lights, and didn't need to think twice. Darkness. Nocturnal desired darkness. He put off the lights, and heard the door opening. Flat against the wall, following its shape in the utter darkness, he crept to the next room.

The fourth warning said: "Direct and yet indirect. The path to salvation a route of cunning with fortune betraying the foolish." Easy. Two routes. Azrael chose the hardest one. He relied on all his lockpicking skills and broke through, in a path where two ghosts awaited him. He took care of them.

* * *

Karliah closed the metal portal behind her. She had been stupid. She cursed herself for every moment spent sitting on that rock. What was she waiting for? For the Assassin to return? For him to tell her what happened there? Nocturnal would have sure spoken with him with a lot more pleasure than with her, but she didn't care. She wanted to look at her mistress in the face. After what she had done, she wanted to look her in the eyes. She feared her, true… But what of it? Azrael had taught her something. Fear isn't a hindrance and it shouldn't be a deterrent. Fear is a means to an end. It's a warning, the warning that wakes up when true danger is near.

She ran inside with all the speed her legs allowed. There was little time. It all depended on how long and difficult the Pilgrim's Path had been for Azrael. He could also be dead, for all she knew. She refused to believe it. The Assassins was too familiar with death to die. Should death come for him, he would engage a banter with it; one he'd surely win. Death would walk away ashamed, or amused, depending on what it truly is. That Karliah didn't know. And she didn't care much for it.

* * *

 _Falling down into a well… Last thing I'd want to do with crippled legs. Fine, now I'm down here. What of it? This corpse…_ he thought, kneeling beside the skeleton that lied of the floor. _This must be the thief guy the journal mentioned. See how well that went. Now… That grate up there… Now, that's not of any help. What's this… A note. "_ _I can't believe it. I came all this way, solved all of those ridiculous riddles just to end up here! After I memorized Nystrom's clues he'd collected from Lythelus, I slit his throat. Now I guess the joke's on me, because I'm stuck here and I don't see a way out. Hope someone comes by soon, I'm getting hungry._ _" Jokes on you truly, idiot. I hope Nocturnal won't play around with me as much._

As if to confirm his supposition, the floor above him shook. Azrael felt the Skeleton Key shaking, and the only instinct he felt was to bring it closer to the movement. As several Daedric Artifacts, the Key had a will of its own. Or maybe, it was Nocturnal's will that acted through her relic. The lights above the grate went off, and the room melted in shadows and changed. Azrael felt the Key vibrating even more, and sensed how much power was truly hidden in that small thing. Three doors appeared behind him, and at his feet opened a shape, a slate, made of blue cristal.

With a keyhole in the center.

 _So this is where the powers of the Skeleton Key end. Funny. She can point the way, but she needs a Nightingale to return to her mistress. Oh well, little thing…_ he said to the Key in his head, bringing it closer to the keyhole and making it fit inside. _Here you go. Back to your maker._

The blue surface raised, closed on itself and then plunged into the violet abyss that had opened from underneath. Streams of pure darkness flew out free of the conduit, as the Ebonmere reopened and shadow was cast again upon the world. High spikes of rock peaked out from the edges of the circle, as flocks of black birds emerged from the pit and flew all around.

In that very moment, Karliah fell almost flat in the arms of the Assassin. As if she had fallen from above. Azrael staggered back, holding her and managing to stand.

'How in blazes did you end up here?' he asked.

'Don't know,' she answered, standing up. 'I was running, and suddenly… I found myself here.'

'And what of not wanting to see Nocturnal?'

'I was afraid. I still am, but I chose to fight it. Now, silent. Nocturnal wishes to speak with us.'

The Assassin raised his gaze and remained quiet. As legend told Azura had appeared before the Nerevarine, now Nocturnal had appeared before them. Arms open, clad in a dark dress with large sleeves. Black birds stood on her shoulders, with their little legs and claws gripping the dress. The face of the Queen of Murk was cold, and yet appeared to the two Dunmer as they had always know the Daedric Princes to be. Majorly worldly, even in appearance.

'My, my,' the Empress of Shadows said, with a coolly mocking tone. 'What do we have here? It's been a number of years since I've set foot on your world. Or perhaps it's been moments. One tends to lose track,' she continued, putting that slight note of arrogance mixed with fake irony as a reminder of who stood above and who below. 'So… once again the Key has been stolen and a champion returns it to the Sepulcher. Now that Ebonmere has been restored, you stand before me awaiting your accolades; a pat on your head… a kiss on your cheek. What you fail to realize is your actions were expected and represent nothing more than the fulfillment of your agreement. Don't mistake my tone for displeasure,' she quickly pointed out. 'After all, you've obediently performed your duties to the letter. But we both know this has little to do with honor and oaths and loyalty. It's about the reward; the prize. Fear not. You'll have your trinkets, your desire for power, your hunger for wealth. I bid you to drink deeply from the Ebonmere, mortal. For this is where the Agent of Nocturnal is born. The Oath has been struck, the die has been cast and your fate awaits you in the Evergloam. Farewell, Nightingale,' she concluded, bringing her arms closer to her chest and slowly fading into the violet abyss below her. 'See to it the Key stays this time, won't you?'

After the Daedric Princess had finished with her long monologue, the two Dark Elves looked at each other and sighed. Karliah shrugged, tittering.

'I'm glad I came here with you, in the end,' she said. 'There was nothing to fear. Nocturnal seemed quite pleased with your efforts.'

'Is indifferent her way of sounding pleased?'

'Yes. Think of her as a scolding mother continually pushing you harder to be successful; outwardly sounding angry but silently content. I assure you, had she been displeased with you, we wouldn't be having this conversation.'

'And what about that becoming her agent shenanigans?'

'The circles at the base of the Ebonmere imbue you with powers befitting a Nightingale Agent. The crescent moon represents the Agent of Shadow, the half moon for the Agent of Subterfuge and the full moon for the Agent of Strife.'

'Three agents, three powers…' whispered the Elf. 'Brynjolf would chose Subterfuge, and I guess you chose Shadow. I'll go for Strife, then.'

'The Agent of Strife is the one that can summon forth that tendril of pure darkness Mercer cast on you, back during your fight. It causes great injury to your enemy. At the same time, this tether will bolster your own life force, restoring your strength.'

Azrael had already moved a bit towards the full moon, and the moment he stepped on it he felt a new strength flowing into him. It was a majorly less exiting sensation than learning a Word of Power, but the feeling of acquiring a new ability all of a sudden felt pretty much the same. He turned, looking at Karliah and opening his arms.

'What now?' he asked.

'Now, our quest is finished, and your offer to aid me fulfilled. Of course, you're also a Nightingale and the leader of the Thieves Guild. Should the need arise, you'll be summoned to the Sepulcher in order to defend it.'

'And you?'

'Well, the Guild has welcomed me back with open arms. I feel like a void in my life has finally been filled. I only hope that this isn't an ending to things, but actually the beginning.'

'A beginning of what, exactly?'

'Why, perhaps the greatest crime spree Skyrim's ever known,' she chuckled. 'There are pockets brimming with coin and coffers overflowing with riches ripe for the picking. We may be Nightingales, but in our hearts we're still thieves and we're damn good at what we do.'

'Yeah, we are. Although I'm still not really a thief.'

'You'll get used to it.'

'I guess so…' Azrael started to say, but then stopped and rose both eyebrows in a faked exasperated expression. 'We've got guests. Damn, this is going to be embarrassing.'

Karliah turned around, and all she saw was a shimmering figure donning the Nightingale suit of armor. It was one of the Sentinels, she had heard of them. There seemed to be nothing special about it, but the tone Azrael had used made her suspicious. It was like he had seen that ghost before, and as if it was someone important. She only had to wait for the Sentinel to speak. The voice said it all.

'Karliah?' asked the specter.

'Gallus!' she whispered, walking closer to him and trying to touch him. But, as obvious, her hand slipped in the cold mist without sensing anything solid. She swallowed, and continued. 'I feared I would never see you again. I was afraid you'd become like the others.'

'If it were not for the actions of this Nightingale,' he said, pointing at the Assassin, 'your fears would have come true. He honors us all.'

'What will you do now, my love?'

Azrael stepped back a little and rested his crippled legs. They still hurt a little bit. He watched the romantic encounter as if unfolded before him. Despite everything, it wasn't that embarrassing. Not even awkward. It was strange. He didn't envy them, and didn't mind that they didn't pay any particular attention to him. Everything aside, Karliah needed to meet with him. That was the thing that would have truly put out the fires of hatred raging in her heart.

'Nocturnal calls me to the Evergloam,' answered Gallus, in his solemn and serious tone. 'My contract has been fulfilled.'

'Will I ever see you again?'

'When your debt to Nocturnal has been paid, we'll embrace once again.'

'Farewell, Gallus. Eyes open… walk with the shadows.'

'Goodbye, Karliah.'

As Nocturnal had disappeared in the conduit before, now the light blue mist faded and flowed deep into the Evergloam. To what end, or for what purpose, that remains unknown. Karliah looked back at Azrael, leaning against the edge of the room and his violet eyes burning with a mocking gaze.

'How adoring…' he laughed. 'And that glowy boyfriend of yours? Where did he go?'

'Gallus's Oath has been paid,' she explained, not finding any jest that would have survived his caustic sarcasm. 'His actions have satisfied the terms. Now his spirit becomes one with the Evergloam… the realm of perpetual twilight and the cradle of shadow.'

'Finally. If I ever plan to live one more minute after I die, remind me not to do that.'

'I will, my friend and fellow. You can be sure of that.'

'Real relief.'

Karliah looked at the violet portal that led back. She faced it, and waited for him. However, Azrael shook his head didn't move.

'You go. I'll rest here a little more. I'm tired. This place is calm.'

'Fine, We'll talk later.'

After she had stepped into the portal, complete silence shrouded the place. The black birds had gone back into the violet pit with their mistress, and nothing had remained there. The purple lights gave the place a grim appearance, that the Assassin liked a lot. He crossed his arms and breathed deeply, thinking about the things that had led him there. Treachery, affection, friendship. And ambition. Daedra, if it hadn't been ambition. The unquenchable thirst for power that ate away at Azrael all the time felt overpowering. Another of those things he felt came from the part of him that was more draconic than elven. One of those questions he never found an answer to. Soon, very soon, he would have gone back to his old path. The path of the Dragonborn. Esbern awaited him. Delphine also. That paranoid, stubborn and tense friend of his… That seemed to distant now. There had been others. Bryn, Karliah, Elisif… Elisif had worried him a little. He really wanted to see how that all turned out.

He listened to his body. He listened to his mind. He had been silent while talking with Karliah, but he felt something strange. The moment he had stepped on the full moon the same sensation he felt when striking the Oath had played out again. The feeling of a claw reaching for you, trying to grip you and failing to do so. He guessed it felt like it, but that talon should have grasped him. It was as if there had been an interference. Something that disrupted his link with Nocturnal.

After pondering the option, he thought trying couldn't hurt.

'Lady Nocturnal?'

'Mortal. I too wished to speak with you.'

The Assassin turned around, and the Lady of Shadows slowly emerged once again from the Ebonmere and floated before him in her black dress. The way she looked at him… Almost like a respective way. Very strange indeed, from someone of the likes of her.

'My Lady?'

'You've deceived me.'

'I suspected as much,' nodded the Assassin, raising an eyebrow. 'But even if I did, I didn't know of that.'

'You didn't know indeed,' Nocturnal said, bending her head. 'However, you did. Now, scores must be settled.'

'Would you mind telling me what's it about, first?'

'You're arrogant, mortal. If not for the unconceivable power you hold within you, which you've not even sensed entirely,' she said, her mockery turning from cold to bitter, 'you might not be as much. You may not realize, but there's something in you. You transacted the Oath, you sincerely pledged yourself to me, and now you've completed your bargain with me. However, I cannot keep hold of you.'

'Truly?'

'Look at your eyes. Stare into the Ebonmere. For you it won't be a chasm, but a mirror.'

Azrael casted one more glance at the Daedric Princess and stepped closer. She waited, patiently, for him to gaze down into the gate, into the conduit. As said by her, the Ebonmere reflected images. The Assassin looked at his own, covered face. His eyes, which had turned violet since he transacted the Oath, were shimmering. A red shadow, the same red that he had always had, was slowly dying his irises of bright crimson. Azrael breathed deeply. He wasn't sure of anything, in that moment.

'So what?' he simply asked.

'You are forgiven, mortal. Even you were not aware of this. However, do remember my words. You are bondless, and unbound. You'll serve me in life, as a Nightingale, but in death… I do not know what is your fate beyond death. There might not be a fate for you after death.'


	27. Epilogue: Thief of Lives

The Ragged Flagon was quiet. It was very late in the evening. The Guild had discussed what to do the next day and how to approached the new jobs they'd been given. Brynjolf had reassured that Azrael would have been back sooner of later, and also explained to some why he had been chosen as leader. There were but a few that still didn't like the idea of him being in charge. One of them got convinced by Bryn, and the other one insisted a little bit more. Surprise surprise, Dirge himself had gotten up and explained that 'If you don't shut up about Azrael, I'll punch you into the Warrens and back up.' Brynjolf had smiled at that, casting an amused glance at both Delvin and Vex.

The preparation session had concluded, and the entirety of the Guild either went to bed, set out for nighttime jobs or retuned into the Cistern to practice of talk. Eitienne had come in through the Warrens half an hour later. He said no Thalmor had been seen down there. Since the Assassin departed, he had taken that check as a personal duty. No Elf ever went down there without him knowing. So long, only a couple of scouts had passed through. Brynjolf had them eliminated.

'Vekel, would you mind pouring me another?'

'Sure, Bryn,' answered the barman, taking a small flagon and going towards the thief. 'What are you drinking away? Loneliness?' he then asked, pouring the mead into the man's tankard.

'No. Boredom. I think you've noticed; without the lad here… This place is tedious.'

'Yes, I noticed indeed. But I think we're just a bit worried for him. Once he's back safe and sound and Guild business is managed properly again, we'll all be merry and cheerful again. You'll see.'

'I guess I will. Vekel…'

The innkeeper was already walking away, but immediately turned upon hearing the strange tone. It was different from Bryn's normal way of speaking. It wasn't soft or anything like that. It had been firm, resolute. Vekel turned, put down the tray on the table next to them and sat in front of the old acquaintance. The two men looked each other in the eyes, shivered with fear and then smiled a little bit. They both sensed it was going to be something slightly embarrassing. So much so Brynjolf had to make a short premise.

'The lad has helped us a lot, Vekel, you know that. However, he has helped me too. Without him, there were certain things of me that I'd have never understood completely. For instance, that sincerity is a dangerous and difficult art. Thus, I wanted to say a thing to you. You know about the rumors that were going around about me and Tonilia. Come on, don't make faces, I know you do.'

'I do, Bryn,' replied the man, lowering his gaze for a moment. 'I don't hold it against you, but…'

'Azrael says to ignore everything that comes before "but", so try again,' grinned Brynjolf, drinking a draught from the tankard.

'Yeah… A real smartass that one,' chortled Vekel. 'Anyway, yes, I know.'

'Well, that was true. But it's over.'

'What?' asked the barman, not believing his ears. The reasoning behind that didn't quite fit into his brain. 'You just gave up? Why?'

'I thought over what the lad said. We are a family, Vekel. Beforehand, we were a rabble of thieves. Thieves steal, and the concept of stealing is taking something in the possession of another.'

'That's quite philosophical on your part.'

'I know, but bear with me. Tonilia was yours, and I took her as a good thief should. But now I'm not a thief to you anymore. We're family. And family members don't steal the things of one another. It's not on principle, rule or anything like that. They just don't. She's yours.'

'And when have you decided?'

'Just an hour ago. We discussed it in private, and came to this conclusion. It had to end.'

Vekel would have liked to reply, maybe thank him or whatnot. However, just as Brynjolf finished the phrase, a grim shadow appeared from behind the pillar… No, two shadows. Two figures, walking forward and making close to no noise. They had cloaks floating behind them, of different lengths. The first one walked at a strong pace, covering a large portion of ground with each step, and was also quite tall. The second was shorter, smaller, but its pace was quick and easily kept up with the first. As the light struck them, the crimson eyes of the Assassin shined.

'Romantic discussion between two men,' he said. His tone glacial and sarcastic, his voice deep. Brynjolf nearly had a heart attack. He hadn't heard him. 'Heartbreaking,' the Assassin continued, 'almost as much as one between two women, but not quite.'

'Azrael!'

'Lad! Karliah!'

'Good so see you, pals.'

Brynjolf raised from the chair and embraced the Assassin. His rich laugh and the grim one of the Assassin mixed. Karliah waved at Vekel and then looked at the two. Seeing the leader reuniting with his second in command was a truly pleasant sight. The two let go of one another and slapped each other on the back with strength, still sniggering in their own, unique way. Green eyes found red ones, the gaze of which they always searched for reassurance.

'I'm not exactly the sentimental type, but damn if I'm happy to see you, lad.'

'I heard you quoting me on my "delete the things before the but", and here you say that anyway.'

'I've also missed you hellishly biting wit. Karliah…' he then said, turning towards her. 'Everything alright after I left you?'

'Yes, Bryn. I hope you've managed to organize he Guild alright?'

'Splendidly. Now, tell me everything.'

'We will…' sighed the Assassin, casting an ice-cold glance at Vekel. 'But you have to leave, Vekel.'

The innkeeper nodded without thinking twice. He put the tray down on the counter, took off his gloves and went off to the other room. He was still a bit exited about the sudden return of the Guild Master, and that wouldn't have gotten away until he told someone the next day. The three looked at him, and turned to each other immediately after he turned around the corner.

The three Nightingales sat down at a table, and laughed again.

'Damn, it's been a long time. More than a week, in fact,' calculated Brynjolf.

'Yes,' confirmed the Assassin. 'More than a week. Spent four days of that in the ruin.'

'Doing what?'

'Azrael wasn't awakening,' explained Karliah, lowering her hood and crossing her legs. 'I watched over him for four days, after which he came back to his senses. Once he walked again, we went back and returned the Key.'

'And did everything go alright?'

'Yeah,' said Azrael, 'although not everything went according to plan.'

'Meaning?'

'We spoke with Nocturnal,' told Karliah. 'She congratulated us for our retrieval of the Key. I left soon after, and once Azrael remained alone she spoke to him again. He told him he's not completely a Nightingale, apparently.'

'Meaning?' asked Bryn. 'I've seen your eyes being red again, but I never imagined… What happened?'

'If only I knew…' tittered the Assassin, stretching his arms. 'Enough with that. Karliah can tell you everything tomorrow morning. I'll be up early and I'll go in the Warrens to pick up Esbern.'

'I'm coming with you, lad.'

'I am too.'

Azrael looked at Karliah first, then at Brynjolf. He lowered his hood and took off his mask, putting it on the table. His long hair fell down on his back, and the stronger light made his eyes blaze like flames. There was that tiny bit of surprise in his eyes that rendered his stare a bit more human than usual.

'Seriously?' he asked.

'Dead seriously.'

'Fine,' he answered, shrugging. 'All the same to me. Before we go to bed, Bryn, two things. First, you two are in charge of this place until I sort out all of my other matters. Second, and this is my first instruction as Guild Master, about Goldenglow Estate.'

'What about it?'

'The property of that honey farm has to go to a member of the Guild. You'll choose.'

'To what end?' pressed on Brynjolf.

'I feel like… This place needs a bit of spring cleaning. The Guild should be an important organization, and right now we're tied to the whims of a small number of people. I'd like to change that,' Azrael said, his smile turning into an ever crueler sneer. 'We'll own Goldenglow, and Maven will have to depend on us. That small number of people will be bound to the whims of the Guild, from now on.'

'Lad, this is all quite dangerous,' Brynjolf warned him, but Karliah defended her brother in blood.

'Bryn, listen to him. I'm also a thief, and I'm older than you. His plan does seem absurd at first, but you'll realize that it's effective. His methods are as if not more effective than ours, just crueler. By binding Maven to us that way, she'll slowly lose out on power coming from wealth. She'll either have to come to terms with us, or stand up to the abuse. At that point, she'll be in our hands.'

'The point is that both us and Maven know the rules,' whispered the Assassin. 'But the rules know only Maven. They don't know us. We'll exploit the rules against her.'

That low whisper he used was a thing Brynjolf envied him a little bit. While he had always had the ability to analyze thing very intently, the Assassin had a stunning capability at also synthesizing them. Short catchphrases, quick jests, even his endless supply of cynical one liners were a proof of that. Brynjolf looked at him. He wasn't a robber, sure, and that was just the refreshing change the Guild needed.

In the end, however, Azrael was a thief. He was a taker of lives. Lives aren't property, not always, but are considered as such. He had pledged himself to the most dangerous and satisfactory kind of thieving Nirn had ever seen: killing. Taking lives. He really was a thief.

A Thief of Lives.

* * *

A/N: This is the end of _Thief of Lives_ _._ Feel free to leave a Favorite if you liked it. Azrael's tale continues in _The Assassin III: Godsplitter_


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